>Y 


JOSEPH  MEDI1L 
BATTER 


A    Little    Brother 
of   the    Rich 


SYLVIA. 


A  LITTLE   BROTHER 
OF  THE  RICH 


A  NOVEL 
BY 

JOSEPH   MEDILL  ^PATTERSON 


GROSSET      &      DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS  ::        NEW    YORK 


COPYRIGHT.  1908, 

BT 
THE   REILLY  &  BRITTON  CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 

PUBLISHED  ACGCST  24,  1908 
SECOND  PRINTING,  AUGUST  27 
THIRD  PRINTING,  SEPTEMBER  3 
FOURTH  PRINTING,  SEPTEMBER  7 
FIFTH  PRINTING,  SEPTEMBER  16 
SIXTH  PRINTING,  SEPTEMBER  21 
SETESTH  EDITION.  JULY  22,  '09 


List  of  Chapters 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

i     A  DEAD  ARISTOCRAT 9 

II     HERMES  IN  FLANNELS 16 

III  DECEMBER  CORN     24 

IV  HEIRS  OF  NEW  YORK 31 

V     BIRDS   OF   PARADISE 37 

VI     TEMPERAMENT  AND  TEMPER 42 

VII     ST.  VALENTINE'S  DAY 53 

VIII  YOUNG  ONES  WITHOUT  SPECTACLES  ....     64 

IX     AN  IMPULSE  TO  ART 72 

X     His  LIFE'S  WORK 88 

XI     AN  HIERARCHY  OF  DESIRE 98 

XII     RACQUETEERING 112 

XIII  SPORTSMEN  AND  SPORTSWOMEN 120 

XIV  TARRYING  IN  THE  CAPUAN 131 

XV     SUFFER,  LITTLE  CHILDREN 139 

XVI     THE  OLDEST  PROFESSION 152 

XVII     A  MITIGATION  OF  BOREDOM 160 

XVIII     THE  MAKING  OF  A  MIME 173 

XIX     CARL  UTTERS  A  PROPHECY 198 

XX     THE  USES  OF  A  LADY 207 

XXI     PAGEANTRY  RESPLENDENT 215 

XXII     THE  BETROTHAL      222 

XXIII  THAT  SKEYNK  TRICK 235 

XXIV  FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN   .  .  249 


List  of  Chapters— Continued 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV  THE  CONSERVATION  OF  A  RAILROAD     ....   261 

XXVI     A  PATRON  OP  THE  ARTS 272 

XX  VI I     SENTIMENTALIZING      282 

XXV111     THE  BOHEMIANS 288 

XXIX     THE  SMILE  or  HEDDA  GABLER 297 

XXX     THE   APOGEE 307 

XXXI     FRAWLY 's  NEWEST  CELEBRITY      315 

XXXII     IN  THE  GAY  SET 320 

XXXII I  "DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS" 331 

XXXIV  WHITE  NIGHT     342 

XXXV  Miss  FUNCKE  OF  ST.  Louis    .                  .   .  353 


Illustrations 


SYLVIA  Frontispiece 

From  a  painting  by  Hazel  Martyn  Trudeau. 


PAGE 

* '  You  ARE  THE  ONLY  ONE,  SYLVIA  " 22 

' '  THE  VERY  LAST  WORD  IN  LIVING  " 134 

"PUT  THOSE  LETTERS  IN,  PUT  THEM  IN,  OR " 232 

LAMORT  WHISPERED  HALF  A  SENTENCE  IN  FRENCH 290 

"HEAR  WHAT  I  HAVE  TO  SAY— THEN  Go!  " 338 

From  paintings  by  Walter  Dean  Goldbeck. 


CHAPTER    I 


A  DEAD  ARISTOCEAT 

Old  Mr.  Dunbar  was  dead,  and  his  wasted 
body  lay  stretched  out  under  the  coffin  glass 
in  the  old-fashioned  parlor  of  the  old-fash 
ioned  country  house  on  the  Hudson.  A  can 
dle  at  his  head  and  a  candle  at  his  feet  threw 
deep  shadows  from  the  clumsy,  upholstered 
furniture  upon  the  thick  carpet  and  the 
heavy,  brocaded  yellow  curtains. 

In  his  youth  Mr.  Dunbar  had  been  a  con 
spicuous  man  of  fashion;  and  in  his  old  age 
he  had  been  wont  to  sit  alone  in  his  library 
after  dinner,  a  decanter  of  port  at  his  elbow, 
musing  over  the  memories  of  the  zenith 
period  of  his  life  when  as  a  young  man  he 
had  visited  the  country  houses  of  the  older 
British  aristocracy  and  in  climax  had 
achieved  an  intrigue  with  a  duchess.  Until 
his  death,  her  miniature  stood  upon  his 
dressing  table.  The  string  of  pearls  he  had 
given  her  now  nightly  adorned  the  fair,  un- 

9 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

clad  neck  of  her  American  granddaughter- 
in-law,  whose  fresh  plebeian  blood  had  re 
juvenated  the  vigor,  just  as  her  splendid 
dower  had  swelled  the  fortunes,  of  the  noble 
line. 

In  his  last  years  the  old  dandy  found  few 
vital  prominences  to  cast  their  shadows 
across  the  memory  of  his  long  years  in  Amer 
ica.  Here  perhaps  he  might  discern  the  dim 
outlines  of  the  starlit  broad  wooden  piazza. 
of  the  old  Grand  Union  in  Saratoga,  where 
he  had  first  avowed  himself  to  that  pretty 
Louisville  woman,  whose  husband  afterwards 
became  so  inordinately  jealous;  there  stood 
the  Dunbar  fancy  dress  ball  on  which  he 
had  spent  half  a  year's  income.  It  had  been 
famous  thirty-five  years  ago,  but  now  was 
forgotten  by  all  save  him.  Yonder  was  his 
election  to  the  presidency  of  the  Coaching 
Club,  against  Phil  Huttoon,  whom  he  had 
never  liked. 

But  old  Mr.  Dunbar  had  lived  his  youth 
so  that  his  age  was  bare  and  resourceless ; 
and  lie  dragged  his  days  wearily  and  sated, 
driving  behind  his  fat  horses  and  drinking 
his  port,  to  the  grave. 

Something  of  the  lassitude  which  charac- 
10 


A   Dead  Aristocrat 

terized  the  old  man  was  already  apparent 
in  his  heirs,  the  two  orphaned  grandchildren, 
Katherine  and  William  Ingraham  Ducroix 
Dunbar,  known  to  his  class  at  Yale  as  "Boozy 
Billy." 

The  girl  was  very  tall  and  very  slender, 
with  shadows  under  her  eyes.  Her  appear 
ance  was  of  over-refinement,  inanmiateness ; 
she  was  slightly  stooped.  She  moved  with 
slow  indolence,  staying  most  of  her  time  in 
doors,  even  during  her  summer  months  in  the 
country. 

Every  Wednesday  morning,  during  the 
winter  season,  she  went,  at  an  hour  before 
noon,  to  the  recital  in  Mr.  Darlington's 
darkened  studio,  where  a  limited  congrega 
tion  of  pale,  rich  women  met  to  hear  the 
harp,  the  violin  or  the  flute.  Afterward, 
smoking  thin  perfumed  cigarettes,  they 
sipped  Russian  tea. 

Brother  and  sister,  dressed  in  new  mourn 
ing,  were  sitting  with  the  body  of  old  Mr. 
Dunbar  on  the  night  before  the  funeral. 

*  *  What  he  left  doesn  't  amount  to  much  now 
adays,"  Billy  commented  crossly.  "We 
haven 't  much  luck,  anyway.  Here  I  am  with 
another  year  at  college,  and  there  you  are, 

11 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

out  two  years,  without  a  man  in  sight  you 
can  afford  to  take.  We've  just  got  to  hang 
together,  old  girl,  until  one  of  us  marries 
well.  Eh?" 

He  poured  out  for  himself  a  third  glass  of 
his  grandfather's  old  port.  The  girl  was 
displeased. 

"Yes,  surely  we  ought  to  marry  well," 
she  said,  "for  there  is  no  better  family  in 
America.  But,  Billy,  you  will  hurt  your 
prospects  if  you  don't  give  up  drinking  so 
much.  Keally." 

"Please  let  up  on  that,  Katherine,"  he 
drawled.  "Drink  has  absolutely  no  hold  on 
me.  I  take  it  only  for  sociability.  I  can 
stop  like  that" — he  snapped  his  fingers — 
"whenever  I  want  to.  And  I  may  add,  that 
I  am  worried  about  you,  too.  If  you  don't 
pull  yourself  together  and  drop  your  die- 
away  manner,  you'll  never  get  the  right  man. 
I  tell  you  what,  Kathy,"  he  continued,  a 
darker  red  creeping  into  his  cheeks  and  ani 
mation  entering  his  voice,  "come  to  the 
Prom  with  me  next  winter.  We'll  have  the 
box  with  Carl  Wildmerding  and  Lassie  Ellis. 
You  ought  to  make  an  impression.  Lassie 


12 


A   Dead  Aristocrat 

was  taken  with  you,  all  right,  when  he  was 
up  here." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  Billy.  In  the  first 
place,  we'll  be  in  mourning  then.  Further 
more,  when  I  marry,  I  want  to  marry  a  man, 
not  a  child ;  and,  besides,  Lassie  and  I  would 
never  get  on  at  all.  This  year  he  thinks 
only  of  football  and  rowing.  After  he  gradu 
ates  it  will  be  race  horses  and  polo  ponies, 
the  slaughtering  of  animals,  and  what  men 
like  him  call  'wine  suppers'  with  actresses. 
I  know  his  type." 

The  lad  poured  another  glass  of  port.. 
"Well,  he's  worth  playing,  even  if  he  is  a 
long  shot.  Every  other  girl  in  town  is  after 
him.  Old  Harvey  Ellis  has  anywhere  be 
tween  one  hundred  fifty  and  two  hundred 
millions  right  now.  And  the  Lord  only 
knows  what  he'll  have  when  he  dies.  He's 
one  of  the  biggest  steel  men  in  the  country. 
Oh,  don't  interrupt  me.  I  know  what  you're 
going  to  say.  What  if  he  is  'common  and 
ordinary'?  You're  not  asked  to  marry  the 
old  rooster,  but  Lassie;  and  he'll  pass  any 
where.  He  is  an  outdoor  man,  to  be  sure, 
but  that's  nothing  against  him." 

"His  mother  kept  a  boarding  house  for 
13 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

common  laborers  in  Duquesne.  That  is  well 
known,"  said  Katherine,  contemptuously. 

"Oh,  forget  it,"  answered  Billy,  impa 
tiently.  "Everybody  else  has — eight  or  ten 
years  ago.  You're  behind  the  times.  Las 
sie's  the  best  match  left  in  New  York,  now 
that  Anita  Devereux's  got  Carl.  Tvliy,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  Wildmerdings  aren't 
such  an  old  family.  I  suppose  grandmother 
in  her  younger  days  would  have  looked  on 
old  Carl  Wildmerding  II  just  as  you  look 
on  Lassie  now.  But  what  a  bally  ass  she'd 
have  been  if  old  Carl  II  had  proposed  and 
she'd  turned  him  down.  You  oughtn't  to 
be  so  damned  particular,"  he  complained, 
"Noblesse  oblige,  you  know." 

Katherine  laughed  with  a  sneer.  "Billy, 
it  seems  so  much  worse  for  a  man  to  think 
and  talk  this  way  than  for  a  girl,  who,  after 
all,  has  no  other  way  to  get  along." 

"Rot,  Kate,  pure  rot.  I  simply  ask  you 
to  come  to  the  Prom  with  me.  Most  girls 
would  like  the  chance  to  be  in  the  party  with 
Lassie  Ellis,  with  Carl  Wildmerding  and 
with  Paul  Potter,  Carl's  room-mate,  captain 
of  the  eleven,  a  highstand  man  and  the  gen 
eral  all-around,  little-tin-god-on-wheels  of 

14 


A   Dead   Aristocrat 

the  campus  this  year.  He's  from  Indiana 
and  he's  poor,  but  he's  really  a  nice  fellow 
for  all  that.  Come,  don't  be  silly,  Kate. 
You'll  have  a  good  time  anyway;  and  the 
lightning  might  strike  Lassie;  and  then  our 
— your  troubles  are  over." 

So  and  not  otherwise,  before  dawn  relieved 
their  vigil,  Katlierine  was  persuaded  to 
promise  to  make  herself  as  charming  as  pos 
sible  to  Lassiter  Ellis  at  the  Yale  Promenade 
dance  the  following  February. 


15 


CHAPTER  II 
HERMES  IN  FLANNELS 

On  an  afternoon  in  July  a  young  man  and 
a  young  girl  sat  idly  in  a  canoe,  slowly  drift 
ing  between  low-lying  horse-pastures,  upon 
the  muddy  waters  of  one  of  the  upper  reaches 
of  the  Wabash. 

"Come,  my  Hermes  in  flannels,"  she  said; 
"the  sun  is  low.  Hurry  or  it  will  be  dark 
before  we  get  home." 

He  took  up  his  paddle  and  moved  it  lazily 
through  the  water.  "And  even  if  it  is," 
said  he,  "what  then?" 

"Cold  looks  followed  by  hot  words  for 
me,"  she  laughed;  "and  for  you — well  if 
you  mean  to  ask  father  tonight  it  would  be 
as  well  to  find  him  in  a  pleasant  mood — and 
he  isn't  a  bit  so  when  I'm  late  to  supper." 

The  tall,  graceful  lad  put  forth  his  supple 
strength,  sweeping  the  canvas  craft  ahead 
with  long,  steady,  even  strokes.  She  mar- 
16 


Hermes  in   Flannels 

veled,  as  many  other  people  have  marveled, 
at  the  frictionless  accord  and  perfect  har 
mony  of  his  movements. 

"Oh  Paul,"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly,  after 
a  silence,  "I  am  very  proud  of  you — not  be 
cause  you  are  tall  and  strong  and  straight, 
not  because  of  your  mere  envelope,  but  be 
cause  you,  yourself,  the  inside  of  you,  is  fine 
and  purposeful  and  inspiring.  The  body 
after  all  is  but  the  hired  carriage  in  which  the 
spirit  is  transferred  across  the  City  of  Today 
from  the  station  Past,  to  the  station  Future. ' ' 

She  leaned  forward  as  she  spoke,  interlock 
ing  her  long,  slender,  white  fingers,  breathing 
out  her  words  with  solemn  seriousness,  al 
most  with  rapture;  for  she  was  at  the  age 
when  world-old  thoughts  seem  very  wonder 
fully  new. 

"I've  warned  you,"  he  laughed,  sending 
the  little  turgid  whirlpools  swirling  aft, 
"against  continued  over-indulgence  in  Ros- 
etti,  Wordsworth,  Emerson  and  the  German 
poets.  Somebody  ought  to  play  the  hose  or. 
this  flame  of  culture  that  is  rolling  over  our 
prairie  towns,  or  we'll  all  be  eating  canned 
goods  pretty  soon.  The  body  is  as  much  a 
part  of  us  as  the  soul."  The  pleasantness 

17 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

faded  from  his  look,  as  his  memory  carried 
him  back  to  his  early  days  at  Yale. 

1 '  During  my  first  two  terms  at  college, ' '  he 
went  on,  slowly,  "I  waited  on  table  for  my 
board,  tended  furnace  and  washed  windows 
for  lodging,  and  tutored  for  clothing  and 
books." 

"  And  I'm  the  prouder  of  you  for  it,  dear," 
the  girl  broke  in,  quickly.  "It  is  something 
to  be  proud  of,  to  be  glad  of." 

"  Ye-es,  in  reminiscence  perhaps.  While  it 
lasts  though,  it  is  a  bit  humiliating  to  be  a 
servant.  It  used  rather  to  gall  me  to  get  up 
early  every  morning  and  wait  around  with 
the  other  servants  until  the  rich  young  fel 
lows  saw  fit  to  hurry  in  for  breakfast,  about 
four  minutes  before  chapel  time — they'd  been 
taking  their  beauty  sleep — and  then,  to  make 
up  for  their  lost  time  we  had.  to  rush  back 
and  forth  between  them  and  the  hot,  dirty 
kitchen,  so  they  wouldn't  be  late.  All  I  ever 
got  from  them  as  I  shot  the  coffee  cups  be 
tween  their  sleekly  brushed  heads,  were  curt 
nods  and  hurried  good  mornings.  "When  they 
started  out  to  run  for  chapel,  I  sat  down 
and  breakfasted  on  what  was  left.  I  used  to 
wish  that  I,  too,  had  to  run  to  chapel — that 
18 


Hermes  in   Flannels 

I  was  part  of  the  same  life.  But  I  didn't 
have  to  run  to  chapel ;  I  was  excused  because 
the  faculty  knew  I  was  different,  of  a  differ 
ent  class." 

His  face  brightened  as  he  told  of  the  turn 
ing  point  in  his  college  life.  "But  I  had  a 
good  body."  She  smiled  at  him  as  he  said 
this,  so  true  it  was,  and  so  void  of  false  pride. 
"And  I  knew  if  I  could  afford  the  time  to 
try  for  the  freshman  crew  I  could  make  it. 
I  managed  to  find  the  time,  and  won  my  seat 
easily.  I  was  thrown  with  Lassiter  Ellis, 
the  captain,  a  son  of  old  Harvey  Ellis.  That 
was  my  start;  I  held  what  I  gained,  and  I 
sought  for  more.  I  made  the  eleven — body 
again.  I  became  prominent  in  the  class,  as 
prominent  as  anyone  perhaps,  and  this  com 
ing  year  I  room  with  Carl  Wildmerding. 
Think  of  that — Carl  Wildmerding,  who  some 
day  will  be  head  of  the  house  of  Wildmerding 
in  New  York." 

"I  couldn't  have  talked  about  this  to  any 
one  else,  Sylvia,"  he  went  on,  "but  you  see 
what  body  has  done  for  me.  Why,  I  am  to 
get  a  hundred  dollars  a  week  from  a  syndi 
cate  of  eastern  papers,  for  writing  football 
articles  this  fall.  If  I  weren't  captain  of 

19 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

the  team,  I'd  never  have  touched  such  a  splen 
did  thing;  and  so  I  want  you  to  come  to  the 
Prom  with  me  this  winter.  The  other  grinds, 
with  whom  I  started  in,  can't  afford  to  ask 
their  girls  to  the  Prom,  but  I  can,"  he  ex 
claimed,  with  pride.  "And  I  want  you  to 
come.  You'd  better,  for  it's  my  senior  year, 
and  you  needn't  dream  that  you  shall  ever  be 
allowed  to  go  with  anyone  else. ' '  He  frowned 
in  mock  jealousy,  but  his  eyes  were  dancing. 

"0-o-o-o-oh!  how  you  frighten  me,"  she 
smiled,  "when  you  get  into  one  of  your  green 
rages.  Yes,  evidently,  the  only  safe  way  is 
for  me  to  go  with  you;  and  I  will.  Dear," 
she  added,  softly,  "you  are  very  good  to 
me." 

"I  want  you  to  meet  some  of  my  friends," 
he  said.  "You'll  see  how  different  they  are 
—Carl  Wildmerding  especially — from  these 
Darbeyville  fellows.  He  is  a  good  friend.  I 
told  you  what  a  splendid  opening  he  offered 
me  in  a  broker's  office  in  New  York.  If  I 
could  take  it,  it  might  lead  anywhere.  I 
might — I  really  might  become  a  millionaire." 

He  looked  beyond  her  to  the  flaming  red 
horizon,  with  smouldering  eyes.  "If  I  can 
only  get  a  start,"  he  muttered,  half  to  him- 
20 


Hermes  in   Flannels 

self,  "nothing  can  stop  me — nothing."  The 
muscles  stood  out  at  the  corners  of  his  jaw, 
and  his  young  mouth  drew  down  into  a  hard, 
straight  line. 

"Do  you  want  so  much  to  go  to  New 
York?"  she  asked,  gently. 

"Oh!  so  much!"  He  paused,  then  added, 
"In  some  ways,  that  is.  You  see,  Kitten, 
you  complicate  the  problem  a  little."  She 
winced  as  if  from  physical  pain.  "Oh,  don't 
misunderstand,"  he  explained,  quickly.  "I 
wouldn't  go  to  New  York,  or  Heaven  either, 
for  matter  of  that,  without  you." 

As  they  swung  open  the  gate  to  her  front 
yard,  she  whispered,  * '  Just  think,  tonight  we 
shall  be  betrothed." 

"Oh,  we've  been  that  for  ever  and  ever  so 
long — ever  since  I  can  remember." 

"No,  silly.  It's  not  a  betrothal  until  the 
girl's  father  has  agreed." 

"What  do  you  think  he'll  say?" 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  he'll  demur  for 
a  while,  on  the  ground  that  we're  both  too 
young,  but  that  he'll  give  in,  in  the  end. 
What  else  can  he  do?  If  he's  not  blind  he 
must  know  that  ever  since  we  were  children 
you've  been  the  only  one  I  ever  cared  two 

21 


A   Little   Brother   of  the    Rich 

straws  about—  '  she  checked  herself,  laugh 
ing  in  gay  confusion;  "no,  I  mean,  of  course, 
that  I'm  the  only  one  you  ever  cared  two 
straws  about. "  There  was  a  pause,  and  then 
she  whispered,  "Isn't  that  so,  Paul!" 

"Isn't  what  so,  honey  dear?" 

"That  I  have  always  been  the  only  one?" 

For  a  long  time  before  answering  he  looked 
at  her,  as  she  stood  facing  him  on  the  broad 
veranda  screened  in  from  the  street  by 
climbing  vines.  The  last  glory  of  the  sunset 
shone  upon  the  weight  of  blue-black  hair, 
braided  in  heavy  strands  above  her  broad, 
low  forehead.  He  saw  the  radiance  come  to 
her  great,  clear,  dark  eyes. 

"You  are  the  only  one,  Sylvia,"  he  said, 
with  choking  voice,  "yesterday,  today  and 
forever. ' ' 

He  kissed  her.  "I'll  be  back  at  a  little 
after  eight.  Until  then —  He  waved  his 
hand  to  her  and  walked  whistling  down  the 
street. 

As  long  as  he  remained  in  sight  she 
watched  him,  walking  lightly  and  gracefully 
as  any  perfect  animal.  "Dearest,"  she  whis 
pered  to  him,  across  the  distance,  "I  love 


22 


YOU    ARK   THE    ONLV    ONK,  SYIA'IA." 


Hermes  in   Flannels 

you;  dearest,  I  love  you  with  all  my  soul 
and  mind — aye,  and  body — forever  and  for 
ever.  Your  ears  can't  hear  what  I  am  say 
ing,  but  your  heart  knows  every  word  of  it." 


23 


CHAPTER   HI 


DECEMBER  CORN 

The  court-house  in  the  center  of  the  square, 
the  Presbyterian  church  and  the  new  busi 
ness  block  on  Main  street  were  of  brick.  But 
in  all  of  Darbeyville  the  only  private  house 
of  brick  belonged  to  old  John  Castle,  presi 
dent  of  the  bank,  commander  of  the  local  G. 
A.  R.  post,  father  of  the  Republican  party  in 
the  county,  the  town's  first  and  most  master 
ful  citizen. 

Old  John  Castle  was  less  masterful  than 
usual,  that  night,  when  young  Paul  Potter 
asked  him  for  Sylvia.  "I  have  seen  it  com 
ing,  my  boy,"  he  said,  sadly,  "and  I  had 
hoped  it  would  not  come  so  soon.  She  is 
young,  barely  eighteen,  and  very,  very  inno 
cent  of  the  world.  You  must  be  good  to  her ; 
you  must  be  good  to  her." 

He  paused  and  clutched  his  grey  beard 
with  his  bony  fingers.  "I  have  watched  you 
carefully,"  he  said,  "more  carefully  than 

24 


December  Corn 

perhaps  you  have  realized,  during  your  va 
cations  when  you  have  been  working  in  the 
bank.  You  have  been  steady,  you  seem  to 
understand  credits,  and  you  are  a  faithful 
collector.  I  think  you  can  run  the  business 
well  enough  after  I  am  gone."  His  eyes 
twinkled.  "I  suppose  that  has  been  your 
plan?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  Paul.  "You 
see,  my  room-mate,  Carl  Wildmerding  IV, 
son  of  Carl  Wildmerding  III " 

John  Castle  interrupted  quickly,  * '  The  Carl 
Wildmerding,  the  New  York  Wildmerding!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Paul,  proudly.  "He  has 
offered  to  place  me  in  a  broker's  office  in 
New  York — and  that  seems  a  great  chance." 

The  old  man  looked  sadly  at  the  younger 
one:  "Youth,"  he  pondered;  "youth  will  be 
served.  To  think  that  the  son  of  a  poor 
parson  should  have  gone  so  far,  so  quickly, 
unhelped. ' ' 

"But  I  can't  let  Sylvia  go  to  New  York 
now,"  he  said,  aloud.  "I  am  old  and  may 
not  have  long  to  live,  and  I  want  her  with 
me  for  my  last  days.  Don't  think,  though, 
that  that  is  my  reason,  even  the  smallest  bit 
of  my  reason,"  he  cried. 

25 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"What  is  the  reason,  then?"  asked  Paul, 
and  he  allowed  his  impatience  to  rise  to  his 
voice,  even  though  he  spoke  to  old  John 
Castle,  his  employer,  the  richest  and  most 
masterful  man  in  Darbey  county. 

"I  wouldn't  stand  in  the  way  of  my  daugh 
ter's  husband,"  said  the  old  man,  gently; 
14  but  it  is  wisest  for  you  not  to  start  in  New 
York.  Few  of  its  strong  men  have  started 
there.  It  is  better  for  you  first  to  become 
the  biggest  power  in  Darbeyville  and  the 
county;  then  expand,  go  to  Indianapolis  or 
Chicago,  and  if  again  you  are  man  enough  to 
rise  to  the  top,  it  will  be  time  to  go  and  con 
quer  New  York." 

"But,"  persisted  Paul,  "I  dislike  to  waste 
the  backing  I  have.  Such  friends  as  Wild- 
merding  and  Ellis  would  give  me  an  enor 
mous  advantage  over  other  young  men  start 
ing  in." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Castle,  slowly, 
"if  in  the  long  run  those  friendships  would 
help  you  or  hurt  you  most." 

"Hurt  me,"  Paul  interrupted;  "how  could 
they  hurt  me?" 

"Well,  they  would  probably  keep  you  out 
of  bed  a  good  deal.  The  hours  are  pretty 
26 


December  Corn 

late  in  New  York,  especially  for  a  young 
man  who  has  rich  friends.  You've  never 
been  accustomed  to  the  excitement  of  the 
place,  and  it  might  throw  you  off  your  bal 
ance.  On  Sylvia's  account  I  want  you  to  be 
a  little  older  and  more  steadied-down  before 
plunging  into  that  whirlpool.  But  don't 
worry,  for  if  you  have  it  in  you,  you'll  win 
in  the  end.  If  the  way  seems  a  little  round 
about  now,  it'll  prove  surer  in  the  long  run." 

"But  really,  sir,"  objected  Paul.  "You 
don't  understand.  I'm  not  a  child.  I 

Old  John  Castle's  force  returned.  "If  you 
don't  want  to  stay  in  Darbeyville  and  inherit 
the  soundest,  solidest  little  bank  in  eastern 
Indiana,  and  allow  my  daughter  to  be  with 
me  in  my  old  age,  you  don't  have  to,"  he 
said,  "and  I  won't  consent  to  your  marriage. 
I  doubt  if  you  will  be  able  to  support  her  in 
any  comfort  in  New  York  on  the  salary  you 
would  get  as  broker's  clerk;  and  I  will  give 
her  nothing  if  she  chooses  to  disobey  me. 
Come,  lad, ' '  he  put  his  hand  kindly  on  Paul 's 
shoulder.  "You  are  a  scholar — what  is  it 
great  Caesar  said — 'better  first  in  a  village 
than  second  in  Rome'?  You  are  sure,  here; 
in  New  York  you  are  taking  a  long  chance, 

27 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

and  I  couldn't  meet  my  dead  wife  in  the 
Great  Beyond  if  I  allowed  you  to  gamble 
with  my  daughter's  happiness." 

For  full  three  minutes  the  youth  paced  up 
and  down  the  room,  silently  weighing  his 
choice,  his  young  face  strangely  marked  by 
the  lines  of  maturity.  Finally  he  drew  a 
very  long  breath.  "Very  well,  sir,"  said  he, 
"if  you  wish  it  I  will  stay  in  Darbeyville.  I 
promise." 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Castle,  "I  want  you 
to  take  a  solemn  oath,  with  your  hand  upon 
the  Holy  Bible — and  then  I  shall  give  my 
unqualified  consent  to  your  marriage.  You 
must  swear  before  Almighty  God  that  you 
will  never  speculate,  never  buy  or  sell  securi 
ties,  grains,  staples,  anything,  on  a  margin. 
Speculation  is  gambling,  and  I  will  not  give 
Sylvia  a  gambler  for  husband." 

With  his  hand  upon  the  Bible  Paul  made 
the  oath. 

The  two  men  shook  hands.  "I  am  glad 
to  have  you  for  son-in-law,"  said  the  older. 
"Sit  down  and  smoke  a  cigar  with  me,  then 
you  can  go  out  and  tell  her.  I  want  to  give 
you  a  little  advice.  Remember  that  the  basic 
principle  of  the  banker's  business  is  'Play 
28 


December   Corn 

safe.'  If  a  man's  good  for  it,  be  liberal  and 
easy  with  him;  keep  his  trade.  If  he's  weak, 
shut  down  on  him  like  that" — he  struck  his 
hands  together.  "Your  first  duty,  your  only 
duty  is  to  your  family.  Don't  risk  Sylvia, 
in  God's  name,  to  accommodate  some  friend. 
You  must  fight  for  yourself,  and  for  her, 
against  the  world."  He  grew  silent,  then 
walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  It 
was  very  dark,  for  the  wind  had  veered  to 
the  northeast,  and  a  light  drizzle  obscured  the 
stars. 

"Bad  weather,  eh,  Paul?" 

"Yes,  sir;  indeed  it  is." 

* l  Bad  weather.  Been  bad  all  spring,  hasn  't 
it?  Cold  and  wet.  The  weather  reports 
show  a  deficiency  of  202  degrees  from  normal 
since  May  first,  when  you  may  say  the  corn 
was  planted.  Very  bad.  Corn  will  be  short 
this  year. 

A  smile  wrinkled  his  leathery  face;  he 
hummed  a  snatch  from  a  battle  song  of  the 
Rebellion. 

"Yes,  corn  will  be  short  crop,"  he  contin 
ued;  "bound  to  be.  December  corn  is  too 
low— 4iy2  asked  last  night.  It'll  go  to  60." 
He  beat  a  tattoo  upon  the  pane. 

29 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

''There'll  be  a  short  crop,  all  right;  the 
early  frost  will  catch  it."  He  rubbed  his 
palms  together,  and  spoke  with  an  unction 
which  amazed  Paul,  for  everything  in  that 
county  depended  on  corn. 

"No,"  rasped  on  the  old  man,  "never  spec 
ulate.  You  may  make  big  winnings,"  he 
smiled  slyly,  "but  it's  a  big  risk.  I  never 
tried  it  myself."  His  look  of  covert  slyness 
deepened  as  he  chuckled. 


80 


CHAPTER  IV 


HEIES  OF  NEW  YOEK 

Across  the  hall  from  Paul  Potter  and  Carl 
Wildmerding,  and  included  in  an  almost 
equal  intimacy,  lived  Billy  Dunbar  and  big 
Lassie  Ellis,  captain  of  the  crew.  Conscien 
tiously,  month  after  month,  Paul  cemented 
closer  his  friendships  with  the  three  eastern 
ers.  His  quick  mind  had  divined  their  status 
in  the  great  world  of  New  York ;  Dunbar,  the 
past;  Wildmerding,  the  present;  Ellis,  the 
future. 

With  only  the  slightest  trace  of  embarrass 
ment  Paul  told  his  friends  of  his  engage 
ment  to  the  girl  back  home  in  Indiana,  and 
wrote  their  names  down  on  the  Promenade 
dance  card  which  he  was  filling  out  for  her. 

They  felt  a  silent  chagrin,  as  they  warmly 
shook  his  hand  in  congratulation,  and  when 
he  had  left,  Billy  Dunbar  said,  "In  a  few 
years  he'll  be  sorry  he  got  tied  up  with  a 
green  country  girl  from  his  little  one-horse 

31 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

town,  because  she  had  pink  cheeks  and  let 
him  squeeze  her,  out  buggy  riding.  I  sup 
pose  she's  a  regular  dairy  maid.  I  wonder 
if  we  '11  have  to  have  her  with  us  in  the  box  ? ' ' 

"There  is  no  way  out  of  it,  boys,"  said 
Carl.  "Paul  is  a  nice,  simple  fellow  who 
would  do  anywhere,  and  I  wouldn't  hurt  his 
feelings  for  the  world.  We  simply  have  to 
have  his  girl  in  the  box  with  us.  Probably 
she'll  not  jibe  very  well,  but  our  women  must 
stand  it.  They  look  on  the  Prom  only  as  a 
sort  of  a  lark,  anyway." 

"It  is  a  blessed  nuisance,"  sighed  Lassie. 
"However,  of  course  you're  right,  Carl. 
Wish  Paul  wasn't  going  to  bury  himself  in 
Indiana.  Thought  he  was  going  to  take  a 
job  from  you." 

"He  was,"  said  Carl,  "but  enter  the  in 
evitable  girl.  I'm  really  sorry.  He  had  the 
stuff  in  him  to  go  to  the  front." 

The  marriage  of  Carl  had  also  been  ar 
ranged  during  the  summer.  Mrs.  Henry 
Foulkerson  Devereux  had  determined,  when 
her  daughter  Anita  was  twelve,  that  some 
day  she  should  marry  Carl,  who  was  then 
eleven. 

She  never  forgot  her  purpose,  and  never 
32 


Heirs   of  New   York 

revealed  it,  except  to  Anita's  older  sister, 
Muriel,  who  had  already  married  well,  owing 
alike  to  her  native  shrewdness  and  her 
mother's  precise  strategy. 

Muriel  induced  Carl  to  fall  in  love  with 
her  while  still  a  freshman.  The  Wildmerding 
family  did  not  object  to  his  infatuation  be 
cause,  fearfully  realizing  that  their  eldest 
son  was  already  the  most  bright  and  shining 
target  in  New  York,  they  saw  safety  in  his 
attentions  to  a  married  woman,  attractive 
enough  to  hold  him  for  a  few  years. 

But  Muriel  did  not  try  to  hold  him.  In 
stead,  she  gradually  transferred  him  to 
Anita,  the  engagement  being  definitely 
achieved  on  the  day  that  old  John  Castle 
gave  his  consent  to  Paul. 

It  was  finally  decided  that  Paul  and  Sylvia ; 
Billy  and  Katherine  Dunbar ;  Lassie  Ellis  and 
a  Philadelphia  young  woman.  Miss  Harrick; 
Carl  and  his  fiancee,  Anita  Devereux;  to 
gether  with  Anita's  sister,  Muriel  Evers,  for 
chaperone,  were  to  occupy  two  adjoining 
boxes  for  the  senior  German  on  February 
fifth  and  for  the  great  Promenade  dance  on 
February  sixth. 

The  fair  visitors  to  the  college  were  left 
33 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

hardly  a  moment  for  idleness  or  rest  during 
the  three  days'  festivity.  On  the  afternoon 
of  their  arrival,  teas  were  given  for  them  in 
the  fraternity  houses  of  the  Sheffield  Scien 
tific  School.  The  collegians,  their  healthy 
young  faces  seeming  out  of  place  under  high 
hats,  escorted  their  enthusiastic  guests  from 
tea  to  tea,  explaining  as  they  passed,  the  vari 
ous  college  show  places. 

Wherever  the  tall  figure  of  Paul  appeared, 
he  was  at  once  pointed  out  by  his  college- 
mates,  exactly  as  if  he  had  been  the  Pick 
and  Spade  society  house,  the  residence  of 
President  Dwight  or  the  ivy  planted  by  the 
war  class  of  '62. 

Sometimes  a  dimpled  visitor,  after  she  had 
passed  him,  turned  around  in  curiosity  for 
another  look  at  great  Potter,  oarsman,  foot 
ball  captain,  Tong  and  Shovel  man,  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  scholar,  who,  by  merit  and  merit 
alone,  had  won  to  the  front  place  in  Yale. 

Mrs.  Evers,  walking  between  Paul  and 
Sylvia,  laughed  as  girl  after  girl  frankly 
stared  at  him.  "It  must  be  agreeable  to  be 
so  entirely  the  center  of  interest  in  a  place 
as  big  as  New  Haven,  Mr.  Potter?" 

"Oh,  every  football  captain  is  pointed  out 
34 


Heirs   of  New   York 

by  underclassmen,  no  matter  who  he  is.  It's 
the  office,  not  the  man." 

"Now,  that  won't  do,  my  young  friend," 
smiled  the  young  matron,  affecting  a  vast 
superiority  in  age.  "Carl  tells  me  that  you 
are  a  very  great  deal  more  than  a  splendid, 
magnificent  animal ;  that  you  have  wonderful 
sensibility  of  feeling;  that  you  understand 
and  appreciate  the  meaning  of  friendship; 
that  you  are  loyal  and  simple  through  and 
through,  and  altogether  fine.  I  think,  Miss 
Castle,  that  you  ought  to  be  very  well  pleased, 
to  have  come  with  the  man  who,  here  where 
he  is  best  known,  stands  so  high." 

The  girl  blushed  brightly  and  smiled.  *  *  Oh, 
of  course  I  am."  She  was  shy  before  the 
famously  fashionable  Mrs.  Richard  Evers, 
whose  name  had  penetrated  to  half  the  homes 
in  the  Union  as  perhaps  the  very  gayest  and 
most  daring  of  all  of  Newport's  gay  and 
startling  women. 

One  morning  Sylvia  had  allowed  her  coffee 
to  get  cold  as  she  read,  wide-eyed,  in  her 
newspaper  the  account  of  how  Mrs.  Evers 
had  bought  and  paid  for  all  the  seats  of  the 
Somerset  roof  garden,  that  she  might  trans 
port  the  Firefly  Musical  Comedy  Company 

35 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

entire  to  Newport,  to  give  by  real  moonlight, 
on  the  lawn  surrounding  her  marble  cottage, 
a  private  representation  for  her  guests  of 
the  justly  delightful  and  delighted-in  picka 
ninny  moonlight  dance. 

Sylvia  had  learned,  too,  how,  only  a  week 
later,  Mrs.  Evers  had  dined,  sitting  cross- 
legged  in  the  straw  of  a  box  stall  upon  a 
silken  horse-blanket,  eating  with  miniature 
golden  pitchforks  and  drinking  vintages  from 
tiny  stable  pails. 

Sylvia  knew,  as  other  Sylvias  in  other 
Darbeyvilles  across  the  country  knew,  that 
Mrs.  Evers,  in  brightly  striped  bathing  suit, 
had  won  second  prize  in  the  hoop-rolling  race 
on  Bailey's  beach;  and  that  the  long  ears 
of  her  prize  Pomeranian  spaniel  were 
adorned  with  pearl  earrings. 

In  the  presence  of  a  lady  of  such  exceeding 
accomplishment  and  audacity,  it  is  no  strange 
thing  that  the  country  girl  found  herself 
timid  and  ill  at  ease. 


36 


CHAPTEB  V 


BIRDS  OF  PARADISE 

No  sooner  had  the  opening  bars  of  the 
Senior  German  filled  the  polished  floor  with 
slowly  twirling  couples  than  Sylvia,  her 
glances  traveling  over  Paul's  broad  shoul 
der  as  he  guided  her  through  the  rhythmic 
ally  moving  throng,  miserably  felt  that  she 
was  badly  dressed. 

"When  the  first  dance  was  over,  she  re 
turned  to  the  box  and  took  lightning  inven 
tory  of  the  gowns  worn  by  the  other  women 
of  the  party.  These  differed  in  color,  in  ma 
terial,  in  texture  and  in  cut,  but  all  alike  were 
expensively  designed  to  leave  unclad  the  neck 
and  portions  of  the  shoulders,  arms  and  back. 

Anita  Devereux,  slightly  flushed  by  the  ex 
ercise,  a  few  locks  of  her  chestnut  hair  stray 
ing  from  its  ordained  confinement,  was  so 
radiant  in  her  dress  of  pink  tulle  that  Carl 
whispered,  semi-audibly,  "You'll  do  tonight, 

37 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

'Nita."  Then  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Evers, 
"And  I  think  sister '11  do,  too."  Mrs.  Evers 
tapped  his  fingers  with  her  fan,  "Nice  boy, 
nice  brother-in-law." 

But  Paul  only  said  to  Sylvia,  as  he  handed 
her  to  her  seat,  "It's  going  to  be  hot.  Why 
they  can't  ever  ventilate  this  hall,  I  don't 
know. ' ' 

His  eyes  were  fastened  on  Mrs.  Evers  as 
he  spoke,  and  he  leaned  forward  in  his  chair, 
listening  to  the  light  fugitive  words  which 
passed  about  her,  vainly  seeking  to  make  a 
graceful,  facile  entrance  into  the  conversa 
tion  of  pleasant  inconsequence  whereof  she 
was  the  center. 

In  his  idea  at  that  moment,  Mrs.  Evers 
was  the  most  beautiful  woman  whom  he  had 
ever  seen.  Her  chestnut  hair,  arranged  in 
smooth,  symmetrical  waves,  was  held  in  place 
by  diamond  studded  combs.  Her  black,  pail- 
letted  gown,  square  cut  and  very  low,  fitted 
the  graceful  lines  of  her  lithe  body  with  a 
studiously  designed  closeness.  Not  a  wrin 
kle,  not  a  looseness,  not  a  seam  was  visible. 
A  single  string  of  perfectly  matched  pearls 
-encircled  her  slender  neck. 

For  a  full  minute  the  young  athlete  leaned 
38 


Birds   of  Paradise 

forward,  wonderstruck  that  woman  could  be 
so  lovely,  then,  suddenly  awakening  to  his 
infidelity,  he  turned  to  Sylvia  and  began  to 
point  out  to  her  his  friends  among  the  black- 
coated  men  who  were  crossing  and  recrossing 
the  hall,  seeking  their  partners  for  the  next 
dance. 

But  as  he  talked,  his  eyes  turned  again 
and  again  to  Mrs.  Evers,  in  silent  gratitude 
for  the  perfection  of  her  equipment.  His 
apprehension  of  matters  concerning  woman's 
dress  became  that  night  abnormally  sensi 
tized.  In  contrast  to  the  rigid,  gelid,  forcedly 
exact  waves  in  Mrs.  Evers'  hair,  he  was  not 
pleased  with  the  loose,  natural  curves  of 
Sylvia's.  The  girl's  high-neck  white  muslin 
dress,  loosely  fitting,  meagrely  indicative, 
gathered  no  laurels  from  the  black  sequinned 
gown,  which  retreated  from  a  neck  of  won 
drous  whiteness  to  define  the  lines  of  a  sup 
ple  figure. 

Proudly  Paul  danced  with  Mrs.  Evers,  and 
proudly  he  heard  her  answer,  when  he  had 
complimented  her  on  her  grace : 

"How  kind  of  you — to  an  old  married 
woman  like  me."  she  said.  "But  how  could 
anyone  help  dancing  well  with  you?  You 

39 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

are  so  tall  and  strong. ' '    Smilingly  she  looked 
into  his  eyes. 

When  later  in  the  evening  they  danced 
again  together,  he  said,  "I  am  happier  now 
than  I  expected  to  be  tonight." 

"  Remember,  Mr.  Potter,  before  you  say 
any  more  nice  *hings  like  that,  that  you  are 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  that  I  am  mar 
ried.  ' ' 

For  a  moment  he  was  afraid  that  he  had 
offended,  but,  reassured  by  a  gleam  of  mis 
chief  in  her  eyes,  plunged  on:  "Surely  that 
is  an  iron  and  unlovely  code  which  forbids 
one  to  observe  and  perhaps  inhale  the  frag 
rance  of  beautiful  flowers  which  now  and 
again  border  the  path  along  which  one  takes 
his  walk  of  life,  even  though  one  knows  that 
the  garden  where  those  flowers  grow  belongs 
to  another  man." 

The  Sousa  two-step  came  to  an  end,  and, 
as  he  withdrew  his  arm  from  her  waist,  she 
whispered,  "All  women  like  men  with  audac 
ity  and  strength — and  you  have  both."  She 
looked  at  him  as  she  looked  at  men  who 
pleased  her. 

Anita,  seeing,  laughed  and  whispered  to 
Katherine : 

40 


Birds   of  Paradise 

"Look  at  Muriel,  flirting  with  that  good- 
looking  young  Hoosier.  She'd  sit  up  in  her 
coffin  and  flirt  with  her  pall-bearers." 

Paul  pondered  at  the  resemblance  of  type 
between  Mrs.  Evers  and  the  Misses  Dunbar, 
Devereux  and  Harrick.  They  seemed  all  to 
have  come  from  one  splendid  scheme  of 
things,  to  be  parts  of  the  same  superb  fabric. 
They  used  the  calm,  level,  resonant  tones  of 
the  aristocrat,  in  speaking;  they  were  more 
perfectly  dressed  than  he  had  known  it  was 
possible  for  women  to  dress;  they  were  ut 
terly  self-possessed  when  they  talked  of  sub 
jects  which  would  have  thrown  a  girl  from 
his  home  town  into  quick  silence.  He  sighed, 
for  against  them  Sylvia  was  pitifully  middle- 
class  and  middle  west. 


41 


CHAPTER    VI 


TEMPERAMENT  AND  TEMPER 

Katherine  Dunbar  and  Anita  Devereux  sat 
up  in  their  dressing  gowns,  talking  and  smok 
ing  cigarettes,  after  Ethel  Harrick  had  left 
them  to  go  to  bed. 

"Did  you  have  a  nice  time  or  not,  Kathy?" 
said  Anita. 

"Oh,  nice  enough,"  answered  Katherine, 
brushing  out  her  long,  unbraided  hair. 
"Young  Ellis  was  nice  to  me,  but  then  he 
was  pretty  tight,  so  you  can't  tell  if  he  meant 
anything.  Ethel  Harrick  was  making  up  to 
him  all  evening.  She  certainly  means  to  have 
him.  I  think  it's  a  shame — this  cradle 
snatching." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  dear,"  purred  Anita.  "I 
suppose  that's  for  me,  because  Carl's  not 
graduated  yet." 

"Not  at  all,  silly.  T  never  thought  of  you 
so.  Nobody  does.  Carl  strikes  me  as  a  ma 
ture  man,  anyway — not  a  boy.  He  belongs 
42 


Temperament  and   Temper 

to  several  of  the  clubs  already,  doesn't  he? 
But  Lassie  Ellis  really  is  young,  you  know. 
He  is  insufferably  tiresome  about  rowing, 
and  he  was  so  tight  that  he  talked  quite  thick 
at  the  end  of  the  evening.  It  made  me  just 
sick  to  see  Ethel  Harrick,  old  Philadelphia 
and  Baltimore  family  that  she  is,  throwing 
herself  at  him  all  evening  long,  just  because 
everybody  says  his  father  will  leave  two  or 
three  hundred  millions." 

"Two  or  three  hundred!  Tra-la-la!  It  is 
hard  to  blame  Ethel,"  laughed  Anita. 

"Yes,  you  may  laugh  about  it.  You  are 
already  taken  care  of.  But  think  of  the  rest 
of  us.  We  can't  allow  these  Philadelphia  and 
Baltimore  girls  to  steal  all  our  nicest  young 
men,  like  a  sort  of  reversed  rape  of  the  Sa- 
bines." 

"Listen,  Kathy.  Take  my  advice  and  don't 
talk  so  much.  Then  after  our  wedding  trip 
next  fall  we'll  have  a  nice  house  party  or 
driving  party  or  yacht  party  or  something, 
where  there'll  be  plenty  of  propinquity  for 
you  and  Lassie — and  no  Ethel  Harrick." 

"Anita,  you're  a  dear." 

The  next  night,  as  they  were  dressing  for 
the  Promenade,  with  kindly  impulse  Mrs. 

43 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

Evers  called  to  Sylvia,  "Let  my  maid  know 
when  you  want  her.  What  dress  are  you 
going  to  wear  tonight?" 

"Why,  the  same  one,"  said  Sylvia.  "It's 
not  torn,  and  hardly  mussed  at  all." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  that  won't  do.  Come,  make 
a  real  impression  on  that  good-looking  young 
man  of  yours.  I  have  an  extra  one  that 
would  fit  you  perfectly.  Show  him  how 
pretty  you  can  be.  I  don't  think  he  knows." 

"You  mean  a  low  neck  dress?" 

"Surely." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  dare.  lie  would  know  it 
wasn't  mine,  and  he's  the  true-blue,  straight 
forward  sort  that  wouldn't  like  that  sort  of 
thing.  Besides  I've  never  worn  one  and  I 
think  I'd — well,  anyway,  thank  you  ever  so 
much,  I  really  can't." 

"Little  girl,  you  don't  know  men." 

"I  know  one  man,  at  least,"  she  answered, 
with  quaint  dignity. 

"They're  all  alike,"  answered  the  young 
married  woman. 

Sylvia's  cheeks  began  to  flush,  her  black 

eyes  to  open  wide  and  sparkle.     She  stood 

in  the  door  between  the  two  rooms,  her  black 

hair  tumbling  about  her,  and  flashed  out,  "If 

44 


Temperament  and  Temper 

I  thought  he  would  like  me  better  because  I 
had  on  a  decollete  gown  of  yours  instead  of 
my  own  dress,  made  in  the  way  to  which 
our  people  are  accustomed,  I'd  think  he  was 
contemptible;  I'd,"  here  her  voice  dropped 
low,  "dismiss  him.  But,"  she  added,  and 
her  words  rang  out  triumphantly,  "he  is  not 
that  sort  of  man.  I  know  him. ' ' 

"Brava,  brava,"  laughed  Mrs.  Evers. 
"Real  temperament.  Well,  then,  there  is  no 
use  trying  to  persuade  you.  I  am  sorry,  for 
your  own  sake,  that's  all." 

'  *  Thank  you  ever  so  much,  though.  I  shall 
never  forget  your — kindness,"  said  Sylvia, 
into  whose  heart  a  small,  dumb,  blind  suspi 
cion  had  crept  the  night  before,  but  who 
could  not  have  acknowledged  it,  even  in  her 
prayers. 

Three  hours  later,  when  she  and  Carl  Wild- 
merding  were  sitting  out  a  dance  together, 
the  talk  fell  on  Paul. 

"Really,  Miss  Castle,"  said  his  friend,  "I 
am  not  exaggerating  because  I  am  his  room 
mate.  In  the  opinion  of  everybody  who 
knows  him,  he  is  one  of  the  very  finest,  most 
upright  and  most  honorable  of  men,  and  he 
is  far  and  away  the  most  popular  man  in 

45 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

the  class;  yet,  he  is  unspoiled.  He  goes  on 
his  unassuming  way,  succeeding  in  every 
thing  he  undertakes,  whether  it  be  athletics, 
studies  or,  most  important  of  all,  in  the  use 
of  his  immense  influence.  You  will  pardon 
me,  I  know,  and  understand,  when  I  say  that 
I  think  you  are  a  lucky  girl  to  have  won  such 
a  man. ' ' 

Just  then  Sylvia  looked  across  the  hall  to 
see  Paul  talking  to  Mrs.  Evers,  both  of  them 
in  great  animation.  It  in  nowise  astonished 
her  that  a  son  of  the  house  of  Wildmerding 
should  speak  with  such  high  praise  of  the 
man  she  was  to  marry,  or  that  a  powerful 
woman  of  fashion  should  take  such  open 
pleasure  in  his  company.  She  could  compre 
hend  why  Paul,  handsome,  strong,  clever, 
grave,  masculine  Paul,  should  interest  them; 
but  she  was  beginning  to  wonder  how  she 
had  ever  interested  him. 

Carl  continued:  "We  had  hoped  at  one 
time  he  would  come  to  New  York,  where  he 
was  bound  to  do  well.  But  the  eternal  femi 
nine  intervened,"  he  smiled,  ''and  now  he 
says  he  won't.  Mark  my  words,  though; 
he'll  be  heard  from  sooner  or  later.  He's 
bound  to." 

46 


Temperament  and  Temper 

At  the  same  moment  Katherine  Dunbar, 
whose  heart  lay  with  Sevres,  Japanese  prints, 
the  covers  of  hand-bound,  rough-edged  books, 
and  the  morning  musicales  in  Mr.  Darling 
ton's  perfumed,  darkened  studio,  heard 
again  the  story  of  the  moose  Ellis  had  killed ; 
while  Ethel  Harrick,  impatiently  watching 
them,  could  pay  but  scant  attention  to  Billy 
Dunbar 's  Bacchic  humor. 

Paul  had  the  next  to  the  last  dance  with 
Mrs.  Evers,  and  when  the  strains  of  *  *  Home, 
Sweet  Home"  began,  they  had  not  returned 
to  the  box. 

It  was  an  extremely  untoward  incident,  for 
it  is  an  old  Yale  tradition  that  the  farewell 
waltz  of  the  Promenade  is  the  sweetest  of 
them  all,  and  that  each  man  must  dance  it 
through  from  the  first  bar  to  the  last,  without 
stop  or  rest,  with  her  whom  he  has  chosen 
as  the  girl  of  girls,  and  who  has  conferred 
honor  and  joy  upon  him  by  accepting  his 
invitation  to  Yale's  greatest  fiesta. 

There  was  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  in  the 
party  when  the  music  started  and  the  ab 
sence  of  the  couple  was  evident.  Then  Billy 
Dunbar  and  his  sister ;  Lassie  Ellis  and  Ethel 


47 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

Harrick;  Carl  Wildmerding  and  Anita  De- 
vereux  swung  out  upon  the  floor. 

Katherine  Dunbar  was  smiling  the  smile 
of  good  workmanship;  Ethel  Harrick,  dis 
contentedly,  Anita  pleasantly,  and  Sylvia 
left  sitting  alone  in  the  box,  angrily.  But 
all  smiled,  because  they  were  women  at  a 
ball. 

Almost  immediately  Paul  and  Mrs.  Evers 
hurried  up.  "Oh,  dear,"  she  exclaimed,  "I 
tore  a  ruffle  and  had  to  stop  to  fix  it,  or  I'd 
have  tripped.  I'm  so  sorry  I  kept  Mr. 
Potter." 

"It  amounts  to  nothing,"  answered  the 
girl  who  had  been  affronted,  speaking  quite 
serenely,  though  hell-fire  burned  within  her. 

"Come  Sylvia,  let  us  hurry,"  said  Paul 
waiting  at  the  entrance  of  the  box  for  her  to 
come  out. 

"Really,  no,"  she  said  gently  and  sweetly. 
"My  head  aches  and  I  can't  stand  any  more 
twirling  about  in  this  hot  room.  Will  you 
help  me  with  my  cloak,  Mrs.  Evers?  Ah, 
thank  you." 

"But,  Sylvia,  we  must  have  this  last  one 
together,"  he  insisted,  alarmed. 


48 


Temperament  and   Temper 

* '  No,  thank  you  very  much, ' '  she  answered 
in  honey  tones.  "I  don't  feel  a  bit  like  it." 

Dawn  teas,  now  unhappily  abolished,  for 
merly  contributed  much  to  the  romance  of  the 
Promenade.  Girls  and  men,  still  in  the 
clothes  which  they  had  worn  at  the  dance,  as 
sembled  in  the  early  morning,  in  the  various 
rooms  of  the  dormitories  to  brew  tea  and  cof 
fee,  and  to  cook  over  chafing  dishes.  The  vis 
itors  gaily  examined  the  rows  of  beer  steins 
on  the  mantel  shelves,  the  racks  of  black 
ened  silver-mounted  pipes,  the  photographs, 
cushions,  flags,  society  shields,  stolen  barber 
poles  and  other  insignia  of  college  life  while 
the  proud,  emboldened  hosts  delighted,  under 
the  wearying  eyes  of  the  chaperones,  in  com 
pleting  the  half  spoken  sentences  of  the  even 
ing  or  in  seeking  a  reinforcement  of  glances 
won  earlier.  The  dawn  tea  was  more  deadly 
to  coolheadedness  than  the  night's  dance. 

As  they  walked  out  from  the  great  Armory 
door  and  the  cold  air  of  February  met  them 
with  its  shock,  Sylvia  said :  * '  Paul,  I  am  not 
up  to  going  to  that  tea  in  Mr.  Ellis'  rooms 
this  morning.  So,  will  you  take  me  home, 
please?" 

"But,  sweetheart,  what  is  the  matter?  I 
49 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

can't  help  it  that  Mrs.  Evers  tore  her  dress, 
and  I  couldn't  leave  her  there  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor.  Come,  be  reasonable." 

"I  am  reasonable.  I  simply  don't  feel 
well  enough  to  sit  up  all  the  rest  of  the  night 
and  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  You  may  go  back 
to  the  tea,  without  me." 

"Well,  you  certainly  make  it  pleasant- 
breaking  up  the  party  and  making  me  ridicu 
lous,"  the  youth  muttered  sulkily. 

When  they  reached  the  New  Haven  house, 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  vestibule,  he 
sought  to  put  his  arm  about  her.  She  spoke 
sharply:  ''Don't,  please.  I  don't  feel  as  if 
I  could  let  you  tonight." 

The  door  swung  open  and  she  faced  him, 
holding  her  hand.  "Good-night,"  she  said 
simply,  "I've  had  such  a  pleasant  tune, 
and ' '  —but  here  her  self-control  gave  way. 

With  lightning  rapid  words,  rushing  from 
her  soul  like  water  from  a  bursting  dam,  she 
overwhelmed  him:  "And  now  you  can  go 
back  to  that  tea  and  to  those  women  who  wear 
their  dresses  half  off  because  they  think  all 
men  are  alike.  Go  back  and  drink  more  with 
those  men  who  are  already  half-maudlin  with 
drink.  Go  back  to  the  woman  who  stole  what 
50 


Temperament  and   Temper 

was  dearest  in  the  world  to  me — my  faith  in 
you.  Go  away  from  sincerity  and  simplicity 
and  homeliness  to  gaudy  glitter  and  display 
and  pretense.  Turn  your  face  away  from 
your  own  people  and  turn  it  to  the  New 
.Yorkers.  Go,  and  know  you  go  forever. ' ' 

"  Sylvia,  you  are  becoming  hysterical.  I 
have  shown  nothing  but  the  most  ordinary 
courtesies  to  the  guests  of  my  friends,"  he 
exclaimed  in  amazement. 

''I  may  be  a  bit  hysterical,  as  you  put  it," 
she  answered.  "Who  wouldn't,  who  saw  life 
dissolving?  It's  not  what  you  did  tonight 
that  has  brought  me  to  this  decision.  It's 
what  you  were  thinking,  tonight  and  last 
night.  I  knew  what  you  were  thinking,  PauL 
I  saw  where  your  eyes  traveled;  and  when 
they  brightened  and  when  they  dulled.  I 
know  that  I  seemed  to  you  like  a  barnyard 
hen  beside  those  birds  of  paradise.  Well, 
go  back  to  them.  Some  day,  perhaps,  al 
though  I  fear  not  until  after  bitterness,  you 
will  learn  more  about  those  glittering  birds 
of  paradise." 

"Don't  be  silly,  girlie.  You  talk  like  a 
child. ' '  Again  he  tried  to  lay  his  hand  upon 
her. 

51 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"No,  don't  touch  me.  You  must  have  a 
chance,  and  so  must  I,  to  think  it  over.  It 
would  be  foolish  now  to  try  to  reestablish 
things  on  a  false  basis.  For  this  is  real.  It 
can't  be  passed  over  lightly.  Now  go  back 
to  the  tea,  back  to  Mrs.  Evers,  who  is  doubt 
less  wondering  where  you  are." 

"Sylvia,  please  be  reasonable  and  come 
with  me." 

"No;  good  night."  The  door  shut.  The 
girl  went  upstairs  and  threw  herself  sobbing 
on  the  bed.  "God  send  he  doesn't  go  back," 
she  moaned.  *  *  God  send  he  doesn  't  go  back. ' ' 

But  Paul,  when  she  was  gone,  grew  very 
wicked  looking.  "Well,  then,  if  she's  so  set 
on  my  going  back  to  Mrs.  Evers,"  he  said 
between  his  clenched  teeth,  "I'll  do  it."  And 
he  did. 


CHAPTER  VII 


ST.  VALENTINE'S  DAY 

The  next  day  Sylvia  gave  Paul  no  further 
chance  to  explain,  refusing  to  be  alone  with 
him  before  she  left  for  home.  But  four  days 
later  he  received  a  letter  from  her. 

"Darbeyville,  Ind. 
Tuesday,  February  11. 
My  dear  Paul : 

Very  unhappily  I  write  you  this  letter;  but 
I  have  no  choice — /  must  do  it. 

It  seems  to  me  best  for  your  own  sake  that 
you  should  be  free.  As  I  watched  you  and 
heard  about  you  in  New  Haven,  it  became 
very,  very  evident  to  me  that  you  might  be 
making  an  irremediable  mistake  to  settle 
down  here  in  Darbeyville,  as  we  planned  last 
summer.  You  could  have  a  bigger,  broader, 
wider  life  elsewhere.  And  that  is  what  you 
are  made  for.  You  were  not  meant  to  rust 
out  in  the  country. 

53 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

Mr.  WUdmerding  talked  with  me  about  you. 
I  saw  how  disappointed  he  was  that  you 
weren't  going  to  New  York  to  take  the  posi 
tion  he  had  made  ready  for  you.  I  am  sure 
from  what  he  said  that  it  is  still  open  to  you; 
and  I  icant  you  to  take  it — for  my  sake.  If 
you  ever  cared  for  me,  you  ivill  do  this. 

I  saw  many  things  clearly  and  for  the  first 
time  during  my  brief  visit  to  New  Haven. 
I  saw  that  your  strength  and  ambitious  spirit 
really  compel  you  to  adventure.  The  young 
eagle  cannot  hop  about  the  home  lawn  like  a 
robin-redbreast,  but  must  try  a  higher  flight, 
nearer  the  burning,  sometimes  scorching,  sun. 

To  be  quite  practical,  it  would  be  folly  for 
you  to  start  in  Neiv  York  with  a  low  salary 
and  a  wife.  And  if  you  stayed  here  for  my 
sake,  you  would  soon  begin  to  think  in  your 
heart  that  I  had  ruined  your  career,  that  I 
had  finally  closed  the  doors  of  opportunity, 
which  I  see  are  still  open  to  you.  As  soon  as 
I  knew  that  you  had  begun  to  think  in  that 
icay,  it  would  kill  me.  And  so,  good-bye, 
Paul.  That  God  may  always  watch  over  you 
and  guard  you,  is  the  constant  prayer  of 

SYLVIA. 


54 


St.   Valentine's   Day 

When  he  had  finished  reading  the  letter, 
i).e  sat  for  a  long  time  looking  into  the  blazing 
log  fire.  Presently  Carl  came  in,  drew  up  a 
Morris  chair  under  the  student  lamp  and  be 
gan  to  read. 

After  a  time,  noticing  Paul's  silent  and 
fixed  stare  into  the  jumping  flames,  he  asked 
with  a  smile:  "Why  so  pale  and  wan,  fond 
lover?  Prithee,  why  so  pale?" 

1  'Nothing— but,  Carlie." 

"Yes?" 

"If  I  wanted  that  job  next  summer,  could 
I  still  have  it?" 

Carl  whistled.  ' '  Are  matters  as  serious  as 
that  ?  I  'm  awfully  sorry,  old  man ;  but  they  '11 
probably  mend.  One  thing  you  may  be  sure 
of,  though — that  if  you  want  that  job,  or 
whenever  you  want  it,  you  shall  have  it." 
Their  hands  met  in  the  clasp  of  friendship. 

Paul  decided  as  he  lay  awake  that  night, 
thinking  the  whole  thing  over  most  methodic 
ally,  that  Sylvia's  feelings  had  been  hurt  by 
his  flirtation  with  Mrs.  Evers,  and  that  so,  in 
proud  humility,  she  had  written  to  release 
him. 

Just  as  many  a  simple  countryman  grows 
light  headed,  when  first  he  attends  a  flashing, 

55 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

gay-colored  musical  comedy,  so  likewise  he 
had  been  carried  away  by  the  carefully  de 
veloped  arts  of  charm  which  the  New  York 
woman  exercised.  Yes,  his  had  been  the  case 
of  the  simple  countryman  and  nothing  else. 
He  smiled  wryly  at  the  reflection. 

Now  the  glitter  was  gone,  the  siren  and 
her  siren  ways  departed.  It  was  time  for 
him  to  return  to  the  workaday  world,  to 
carve  out  his  steady  life  as  he  had  planned; 
to  become  Sylvia's  husband,  and  heir  appar 
ent  to  old  John  Castle,  the  first  man  of  Darby 
county.  New  York  was  uncertain ;  successor- 
ship  to  John  Castle,  as  the  old  man  himself 
had  argued,  sure  and  immediate. 

Always,  since  their  kindergarten  days,  his 
life  and  Sylvia's  had  been  intertwined. 
Often  he  had  given  her  offense,  which  she  had 
been  quick  to  take ;  but  always  in  the  end  she 
had  forgiven  him.  Yes,  she  would  forgive 
him  now.  He  knew  it. 

He  put  on  his  dressing  gown,  threw  the 
light  upon  his  desk  and  wrote: 

"Yale  University,  February  14,  3  A.  M. 
My  dearest: 

If  you  realized  what  pain  and  misery  your 
56 


St.    Valentine's   Day 

letter  would  bring  to  me,  you  would  not  have 
sent  it. 

I  cannot,  cannot,  give  you  up,  Sylvia — and 
I  won't.  New  York  means  nothing  to  me 
without  you;  nor  does  anything  else. 

I  love  you,  dearly  beloved,  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul  and  strength  and  mind;  and 
I  will  marry  you,  because  it  is  ordained.  We 
were  made  for  each  other,  and  in  your  heart 
of  hearts  you  know  it. 

We  have  four  days'  vacation  at  Washing 
ton's  birthday  and  I  am  going  out  to  Darbey- 
ville  to  see  you,  crew  or  no  crew.  I'll  explain 
it  is  on  account  of  sickness,  and  it  is  on  ac 
count  of  sickness — heart  sickness.  I  will  reach 
home  the  morning  of  the  21st  on  the  8:55. 
I  wonder  if  anybody  will  meet  me? 
Forever  yours, 

PAUL." 

He  folded  the  letter  into  an  envelope  which 
he  sealed,  stamped  and  directed,  so  that  he 
might  mail  it  on  his  way  to  breakfast. 

But  he  overslept  the  next  morning,  and 
had  barely  time  to  jump  into  his  clothes, 
crush  the  letter  into  his  pocket  and  rush  into 
chapel  on  the  very  stroke  of  8:10,  breakfast- 
less. 

57 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

As  he  ran  through  the  gap  between  the 
senior  and  sophomore  fences,  toward  the 
•wide  gates  of  the  chapel,  he  reached  out  his 
hand  to  the  newsboy  who  stood  there.  The 
boy  whipped  him  his  paper  with  a  very  re 
spectful  ' '  Good  morning,  Mr.  Potter, ' '  as  be 
coming  to  the  captain  of  the  team  of  the 
decade. 

During  the  choir's  initial  drone,  Paul 
glanced  over  the  first  page  of  his  paper;  at 
the  beginning  of  the  long  prayer  he  turned 
to  financial.  His  eyes  traveled  quickly  down 
the  stock  quotations,  to  fall  upon  this  item : 


SMALL  BANK  FAILS  IN  INDIANA. 


Assets  $100,000 — Liabilities  $450,000 — Presi 
dent  Had  Been  Buying  Corn. — Flurry 
Entirely  Local. 

Darbeyville,  Ind.,  Feb.  13. — Because  John 
Castle,  president  of  the  State  Bank  of  Dar 
beyville,  thought  December  corn  would  go  to 
60  cents  and  backed  his  opinion  with  nearly 
half  a  million  dollars  of  the  funds  of  his 
bank,  the  State  Examiner  closed  the  doors 
of  the  concern  this  afternoon.  Affairs  were 
found  to  be  in  a  very  bad  condition,  and  de 
positors  cannot  hope  for  over  15  or  20  cents 
on  the  dollar. 

It  is  said  by  friends  of  Mr.  Castle,  who  is 
seventy-seven  years  old,  that  his  mind  has 
been  evidently  failing  for  some  time  past. 

58 


St.   Valentine's   Day 

An  examination  of  his  private  books  shows 
that  last  year  he  made  $100,000  by  selling 
corn  short  on  the  Chicago  Board  of  Trade. 

This  year  he  has  been  constantly  predicting 
a  light  crop,  owing  to  the  heavy  cold  spring 
rains.  He  began  early  last  June  buying 
December  corn,  through  Stillman  &  Stein- 
feldt,  and  Diekhaut  Brothers,  of  Chicago. 
The  crop  was  unexpectedly  large,  however, 
and  corn  prices  suffered. 

Castle  lost  in  his  speculations  his  entire 
private  fortune  of  $200,000,  as  well  as  $250,- 
000  of  the  bank's  funds.  Remaining  assets 
are  said  to  be  less  than  $75,000. 

Following  his  public  exposure,  Mr.  Castle 
was  seized  late  tonight  with  a  stroke  of 
apoplexy.  Owing  to  his  age  and  enfeebled 
condition,  it  is  not  expected  that  he  will 
live.  His  daughter  is  at  his  bedside.  Two 
deputy  sheriffs  have  been  stationed  in  the 
house  to  arrest  the  embezzler  if  he  recovers 
consciousness,  which  does  not  seem  probable. 


Indianapolis,  Ind.,  Feb.  13. — The  failure 
of  the  State  Bank  of  Darbey.ville  did  not 
cause  a  ripple  in  banking  circles  here.  "The 
failure  of  the  Darbeyville  Bank,"  said 
President  Loode,  of  the  Fifth  National 
Bank,  which  has  been  local  correspondent  of 
the  Darbeyville  concern,  "is  unimportant. 
Our  interests  with  it  were  well  protected, 
and  we  shall  lose  little,  if  at  all.  The 
bank-s  of  Indianapolis  are  sound  to  the  core, 
and  can  be  shaken  by  no  such  trivial  occur 
rence.  " 


Paul  walked  slowly  out  into  the  air,  his 
house  not  in  order. 

59 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

He  made  his  way  toward  his  eating  club 
and  as  he  came  to  the  mail  box,  mechanically 
he  pulled  down  the  pivoted  cover  and  reached 
to  his  pocket  for  the  letter  to  Sylvia,  which 
he  had  written,  directed,  sealed  and  stamped 
the  night  before.  His  mind  had  been  fully 
made  up  to  post  the  letter  early  that  morning 
and  now  his  muscles  were  obeying  the  not  yet 
countermanded  decree  of  his  will.  But  before 
it  was  too  late,  he  bethought  himself.  Very 
slowly  he  let  the  box-cover  revolve  back 
to  its  position;  very  slowly  he  put  the  letter 
into  his  pocket  and  walked  on  to  his  breakfast. 

He  did  not  attend  his  9:30  recitation,  but 
returned  to  his  room.  He  would  have  to 
think  it  out  all  over  again. 

It  was  now  a  case  not  of  whether  he  would 
marry  Sylvia,  but  of  whether  he  could.  He 
had  no  money.  If  he  went  back  to  Darbey- 
ville  to  live  he  could  make  little  enough  there, 
the  bank  being  smashed.  (What  an  old  fool 
John  Castle  was,  anyway.)  He  could  hope 
for  nothing  better  than  a  clerkship  in  a  store. 
On  such  pay  he  could  barely  support  one- 
let  alone  two — or  more. 

And  Sylvia  had  been  right  about  the  im 
practicability  of  his  taking  her  to  New  York. 
60 


St.   Valentine's   Day 

That  was  a  man's  game  in  New  York,  and 
required  a  man's  strength — his  undivided 
strength.  The  poet  knew,  when  he  sang,  * '  He 
travels  the  fastest  who  travels  alone."  It 
would  not  merely  handicap  him,  it  would  ab 
solutely  ruin  his  every  chance,  if  he  tried  to 
carry  a  woman  through  the  battle  that  would 
be  hard  enough  for  him  alone  and  unimpeded. 

And  Sylvia.  He  did  love  her  and  must  con 
sider  her.  Wouldn't  she  certainly  and  inevi 
tably  be  wretched,  if  tied  together,  like  two 
drowning  people,  they  should  be  submerged  in 
the  sea  of  poverty?  It  was  not  after  all  his 
fault  that  her  father  had  been  a  senile  idiot. 
So  the  old  hypocrite  had  been  margining  or 
ders  on  the  Chicago  Board  of  Trade  at  the 
very  time  last  summer  when  he  had  made 
Paul  swear  on  the  Bible  never  to  speculate. 
Well  then,  he,  Paul  Potter,  would  not  be 
dragged  down  for  the  sins  of  a  crooked  old 
banker. 

He  took  the  letter  to  Sylvia  out  of  his 
pocket  once  more,  kissed  it,  whispered  *  *  Good 
bye,  dear,  it's  hard  luck,"  and  threw  it  un 
opened  into  the  fire. 

Then  lest  the  people  of  Darbeyville  should 
believe  that  the  breaking  of  his  engagement 

61 


A   Little   Brother  of  the    Rich 

had  been  occasioned  by  John  Castle's  failure, 
he  wrote  to  his  sister : 

Yale  University,  Feb.  13. 
My  dear  sister: 

I  am  terribly  broken  up.  Today,  for  no 
reason  that  I  know,  the  enclosed  letter  came 
from  Sylvia. 

It  is  evident  to  me  that  she  no  longer  cares 
for  me  and  is  merely  trying  to  let  me  down 
easily.  Has  she  been  going  around  with  any 
body  else? 

After  all,  it  seems  fate  that  I  should  go  to 
New  York.  But  you  can't  imagine  how  I  feel 
this,  the  cruelest  disappointment  in  my  life. 
Always  affectionately  your  brother, 

PAUL. 

He  enclosed  Sylvia's  letter  of  February  11, 
in  thankfulness  that  it  had  been  written  two 
full  days  before  the  crash.  He  went  out  to 
the  mail  box.  This  time  he  lifted  the  pivoted 
cover  firmly  and  dropped  the  letter  in. 

When  Carl  came  into  the  room  for  his  noon 

pipe,   Paul   was   quietly   studying.     "  Hello 

Carlie,"  said  he.     "Oh,  about  that  job  we 

were  speaking  of  again  last  night.    I've  been 

62 


St.  Valentine's   Day 

thinking  it  over,  and  I  '11  take  it.  And  a  hun 
dred  thousand  thanks  to  you,  old  man." 

' 'That's  good;  that's  fine,"  responded  the 
other.  "I'm  delighted.  Now  I'll  have  a 
chance  to  see  you  after  we  leave  this  blessed 
spot.  And  that  really  means  a  lot.  Friend 
ships  aren't  lightly  to  be  thrown  away." 

The  athlete  threw  his  arm  about  his  room 
mate's  shoulder,  "That's  about  as  nice  a 
Valentine, ' '  said  he,  '  *  as  came  to  anybody  on 
this  old  campus  today,  I  imagine.  You  don't 
know  how  obliged  I  am,  old  fellow.  Come  on, 
let 's  go  to  lunch. ' ' 


63 


CHAPTER  VIII 


YOUNG  ONES  WITHOUT  SPECTACLES 

Not  many  people  attended  the  funeral  of 
old  John  Castle.  He  had  stolen  the  money  of 
his  neighbors. 

Sylvia  was  dumbly  wretched,  like  a  wraith, 
her  waxy  white  face  ghostly-seeming  between 
the  lustrous  black  hair  above  and  the  dull 
black  dress  below.  She  shed  no  tears;  her 
heart  was  dry  and  desolate  as  a  desert  free 
from  all  oases. 

Night  after  night  she  lay  awake,  thinking 
of  herself  in  a  weird,  detached  way  as  if  her 
misfortunes  had  befallen  some  other.  "Poor 
girl,"  she  would  say,  "her  father  was  out  of 
his  mind.  The  man  I  knew  for  so  long  was 
not  a  thief  until  the  Unknown  suddenly 
stripped  him  of  his  soul.  It  is  curious  that 
other  people  cannot  see  this ;  that  they  cannot 
pity  him  now  that  he  lies  in  his  coffin  dead, 
64 


Young  Ones  Without   Spectacles 

terribly  dead.  But  they  do  not  pity  him— 
not  even  a  little  bit.  They  hate  him.  His 
friends  of  twenty  years,  of  thirty  years,  of 
fifty  years,  hate  him  now,  because  he  took 
their  money.  He  is  punished,  punished  ter 
ribly,  for  he  is  dead  in  dishonor,  dead  for 
ever.  His  name  is  black,  and  will  always  be 
black.  He  can  never  do  anything  to  wash  it 
clean,  he  will  never  be  given  another  chance. 
They  are  alive,  they  have  the  sunshine,  they 
have  their  children  and  love  and  laughter  and 
life.  He  is  dead,  alone  in  the  darkness  with 
the  worms  and  the  black  of  the  grave;  and 
still  they  hate  him.  His  daughter  is  alive ;  but 
she  cannot  help  him.  The  man  who  was  her 
lover  does  not  love  her  now.  Poor  girl,  poor 
girl." 

Almost  without  exception  the  friends  of  her 
girlhood  were  loyal  to  her.  But  the  pity  of 
those  who  sorrowed  with  her,  hurt  even  more 
than  the  occasional  slights  put  upon  her  by 
those  who  thought  of  her,  not  as  Sylvia 
Castle,  but  as  the  daughter  of  John  Castle, 
the  thief. 

The  torture  of  her  pride  became  very 
poignant  and  suddenly  one  night,  after  a  par- 


65 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ticularly  bitter  day,  she  took  the  train  for 
Chicago. 

By  the  sale  of  her  finery,  the  very  finest 
finery  that  had  ever  been  in  Darbeyville,  she 
obtained  a  little  over  one  hundred  dollars; 
and  with  this  fortunate  reserve  she  turned 
her  face  to  the  great  city  to  complete  her 
education  in  the  University  of  Self-Support. 

Sylvia  had  graduated  from  the  high  school 
with  first  honors ;  she  had  been  two  years  at 
the  state  university ;  she  had  been  instructed 
in  dancing,  in  painting,  in  singing,  in  French. 
In  the  annual  performance  of  the  Isis  Club, 
she  had  been  cast  for  Juliet ;  and  long  years 
afterwards  it  was  said  by  those  who  had  seen 
the  performance,  said  more  emphatically 
long  years  afterwards  than  at  the  time,  that 
she  had  been  a  Juliet  of  exceeding  charm. 

But  now,  when  she  found  herself  strangely 
and  suddenly  included  in  the  scope  of  the 
curse  of  Adam,  she  sorely  repented  that  she 
had  not  spent  more  time  in  learning  how  to 
work,  and  less  time  in  learning  how  to  play. 

She  was  ten  days  in  Chicago  before  she 
could  find  employment.  She  knew  no  trade 
and  was  barred  from  answering  the  news 
paper  advertisements  for  skilled  workers. 
66 


Young  Ones  Without    Spectacles 

She  did  not  want  to  become  a  domestic 
servant,  until  the  last  necessary  moment,  be 
cause  that  humiliation  seemed  to  her  almost 
unendurable. 

On  the  eleventh  day  she  entered  a  tall  build 
ing  within  the  loop  district  and  asked  the 
floor-walker  at  the  door  for  the  gentleman  in 
charge  of  the  employments. 

" Manager,  seventh  floor,"  said  he. 

She  found  her  way  to  a  big  glazed  cage. 
"Is  the  manager  in?"  she  asked  the  office  boy 
who  guarded  its  entrance.  "I  wish  to  apply 
for  a  position." 

"You  don'  wanta  see  him.  See  Mr.  John 
son."  The  boy  turned  on  his  heel  and  en 
tered  the  glazed  door  of  the  cage. 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  boy  came  out  and 
Sylvia  meekly  inquired,  "Where  can  I  find 
Mr.  Johnson?" 

"He's  out  to  lunch;  he  don't  see  sales 
ladies  'till  three  o'clock." 

At  three  she  was  waiting  again  at  the  door. 
Two  other  girls  were  ahead  of  her.  She 
hoped  that  neither  of  them  would  get  the  sit 
uation  which  she  needed. 

When  at  last  she  was  shown  in,  a  pleasant 
faced  young  man  wearing  glasses,  leaning 

67 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

back  in  a  swivel  chair,  faced  her.  She  re 
mained  standing.  "Ah,  Miss" — he  paused. 

"Castle." 

"Miss  Castle,  you  desire  a  position  with 
the  firm.  Saleslady!  Yes.  What  has  been 
your  experience?" 

"I  haven't  had  any,  sir." 

"Ah,  that  is  unfortunate.  You  see  inex 
perienced  girls  are  not  of  much  use.  We  have 
to  train  them,  to  teach  them  the  art  of  sales 
manship,  for  it  is  an  art,  a  real  art." 

"Of  course,  sir." 

"And  so  we  are  unable  to  pay  more  than  a 
moderate  compensation  to  beginners,  to  pu 
pils,  so  to  speak,  who  are  learning  the  art  of 
salesmanship  in  our  institution." 

"How  much  could  you  pay?" 

"Do  you  live  at  home?"  he  answered. 

"No,  sir,"  and  she  began  to  explain  her 
circumstances. 

But  Mr.  Johnson  cut  her  short  before  she 
was  nearly  done.  "We  can  offer  you  six  dol 
lars  a  week,  if  you  fill  out  this  blank  satis 
factorily,  and  give  us  proper  references  to 
verify  your  statements.  But  if  you  are  a 
quick  learner  and  take  a  real  interest  in  the 
welfare  of  the  firm,  you  will  receive  an  in- 
68 


Young  Ones  Without   Spectacles 

crease  in  your  compensation  in  due  season. 
Fill  this  blank  out  tonight  and  leave  it  here 
tomorrow.  You  will  be  notified  Saturday 
morning  by  postal  card  whether  we  shall  re 
quire  your  services." 

"Not  until  Saturday ?"  asked  the  girl 
blankly.  It  was  only  Tuesday,  and  she  would 
be  wasting  three  days  when  she  might  be 
seeking  other  employment. 

* '  Not  until  Saturday, ' '  answered  Mr.  John 
son  abruptly.  "Good  day."  He  raised  his 
voice,  "Jimmy." 

"Yessir." 

"How  many  more?" 

"Four,  sir." 

"Tell  two  to  wait,  young  ones  without 
spectacles.  Tell  the  other  two  we  have  noth 
ing  for  them." 

"Yessir." 

The  application  blank  which  Mr.  Johnson 
directed  Sylvia  to  fill  out  read  as  follows : 

Name  (in  full). 
Address. 
Age 

Religion. 

"Who  is  dependent  on  you  for  support? 

69 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

For  what  position  do  you  apply? 

What  salary  have  you  been  receiving? 

What  salary  do  you  expect? 

Were  you  ever  a  member  of  a  Trade  Union? 

Married  or  single? 

How  many  children? 

Do  you  promise  to  report  anyone  to  the  Su 
perintendent  who  in  your  judgment  is  not 
working  for  the  best  interests  of  the  firm? 

Were  you  ever  bonded?  If  so,  when  and 
where  ? 

Where  did  you  work  last  year? 

Under  whom?  For  what  sal 

ary?    How  long  did  you  work  there? 
Why  did  you  leave? 

Give  three  references  who  are  not  relatives. 

The  girl  had  also  been  instructed  to  sign 
the  following  contract: 

"In  consideration  of  my  employment,  the 
sufficiency  of  which  consideration  I  hereby 
assert,  I  do  hereby,  for  myself  and  my  legal 
representatives,  release  the  firm  of  Dawson 
and  Dawson  from  all  liability  to  me  in  case 
of  accident,  sickness,  disease  or  death,  no 
matter  how  the  same  may  be  caused.  I  do 
70 


Young   Ones   Without   Spectacles 

also  herewith  covenant  and  agree  that  this 
agreement  shall  be  a  bar  to  any  action  against 
them  on  account  of  such  accident,  sickness, 
disease  or  death,  or  for  any  other  cause  what 
soever.  My  engagement  can  be  terminated  at 
any  time  at  the  option  of  the  firm. 

Signed 

Witness 

Witness 

Sylvia  filled  out  the  application  blank  and 
signed  the  contract  to  the  satisfaction  of 
Dawson  and  Dawson,  for  she  received  a  pos 
tal  card  on  Saturday  to  report  Monday  morn 
ing  at  7:45  A.  M.  to  Mr.  Stacey,  in  charge 
of  the  toy  department  in  the  basement. 


CHAPTER   IX 


AN  IMPULSE  TO  ART 

In  all  institutions  of  learning,  freshmen 
are  hazed;  and  Sylvia,  who  had  begun  her 
course  in  the  University  of  Self-Support,  did 
not  escape.  But  the  process  in  her  case  was 
an  exceptionally  light  one.  Her  nature  was 
comprehending  and  sympathetic;  she  could 
quickly  adjust  herself.  Her  mind  was  alert; 
she  could  quickly  learn.  Her  courage  was 
keen,  for  necessity  drove  her.  It  was  not 
long  before  she  doffed  the  colors  of  the  ama 
teur  of  which  she  had  once  been  proud,  and 
with  yet  greater  pride  donned  the  colors  of 
the  professional  in  life. 

In  her  loneliness  in  a  city  of  strangers  she 
relieved  the  pent-up  gregariousness  of  her 
vital  nature  by  pouring  out  into  a  blank  book 
the  confidences  she  knew  not  where  else  to 
bestow. 


An   Impulse   to  Art 

On  June  28,  189 — ,  the  day  when  Paul 
Potter  stroked  his  last  Yale  crew  to  victory, 
she  wrote: 

I  am  afraid  I  am  losing  my  grip  on  the 
finer  things  of  life.  I  have  read  very  little 
lately.  Somehow,  I  can  not  get  up  the  cour 
age,  after  being  on  my  feet  all  day  in  the 
basement  of  the  store.  The  air  is  fearfully 
close  down  there,  and  they  won't  let  you  sit 
down,  even  on  the  rare  occasions  when  there 
is  nobody  to  wait  on. 

I  am  in  the  toy  department  and  have  to  be 
careful  because  the  little  boys  steal  marbles 
if  you  don't  watch  them.  The  detective 
caught  two  last  week  at  my  counter  and  took 
them  away.  He  said  they  were  old  offenders. 
They  fined  me  fifty  cents  for  carelessness  and 
told  me  they'd  discharge  me  if  it  happened 
again.  I  don't  know  what  became  of  the  lit 
tle  boys. 

I  have  been  fined  every  week  since  I  began 
at  the  store.  The  first  week,  seventy-five 
cents,  because  I  broke  a  lot  of  rules  I  didn't 
know  about.  The  floorwalker,  who  was  in 
charge  of  our  section  (his  name  is  Stacey,  a 
middle  aged  man,  tall,  bald  and  sallow).,  was 
kind  about  it,  but  explained  it  was  the  rule 

73 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

of  the  house  to  report  new  employes  to  make 
them  careful. 

July  6.  I  must  make  more  money  soon. 
I  pay  $4.50  for  board  and  lodging,  and  don't 
usually  get  over  $5.25  at  the  store  on  account 
of  fines.  It  seems  as  if  you  couldn't  remem 
ber  all  the  rules.  I  was  fined  twenty-five  cents 
yesterday  for  impertinence  to  an  old  woman 
who  had  been  haggling  about  exchanging  a 
soiled  dime  doll  for  half  an  hour.  I  suppose 
I  was  impertinent,  too,  in  a  way,  but  my 
head  ached  and  I  was  so  hot  and  tired.  She 
finally  said,  "Well,  if  you  don't  want  to  take 
it  back,  I'll  trade  elsewhere  after  this."  I 
told  her  the  store  could  probably  get  along 
without  her  valuable  patronage.  Then  she 
reported  me,  and  they  fined  me. 

August  1.  I  am  afraid  I'm  getting  lax,  for 
I  am  getting  accustomed  to  swearing.  Most 
of  the  girls  swear  a  little  towards  the  end  of 
the  day,  though  they're  "perfect  ladies"  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  doors 
open.  A  girl  named  Blanche  Nevins  works 
next  to  me.  She  is  really  nice  and  good- 
hearted  and  sweet,  though  a  little  rough  in 
her  talk. 

Mr.  Stacey,  the  floorwalker,  asked  me  to 
74 


An   Impulse  to  Art 

go  out  to  dinner  with  him  next  Saturday 
night.  I  told  Blanche  about  it,  and  she 
laughed  queerly  and  said:  "Well,  kid,  I 
don't  know  what  I'd  do  if  I  was  you.  He's 
no  account,  but  if  you  go,  your  fines '11  stop 
off  short.  How 're  you  fixed — on  the  level,  I 
mean?  Tell  me  because  I  like  you." 

I  told  her,  and  she  said  it  was  a  hard  luck 
story.  She  said  if  I  lived  home  and  was  just 
picking  up  my  little  old  six  bones  for  pin 
money,  it'd  be  all  serene,  but  it  looked  like  I 
was  up  against  it,  good  and  plenty.  She  said 
it  was  up  to  me.  Did  I  want  to  go  out  to 
dinner  with  old  Staceys,  or  work  out  as  help 
in  a  house  ?  Because  I  'd  probably  have  to  do 
one  or  the  other,  sooner  or  later. 

I  said  maybe  I'd  go  out  with  him  then,  for 
after  all  that  was  saving  something  and  I 
might  get  a  good  dinner.  She  looked  solemn 
and  said,  "Well,  it's  a  damned  shame,  kid; 
why  can't  you  get  a  feller  to  marry  you? 
Now,  don't  spring  the  love  racket  on  Sister 
Wise  here;  just  hook  up  with  the  first  one 
that  can  afford  a  ticket  to  St.  Joe,  and  if 
things  don't  pan  out  right,  why  you're  just 
as  much  to  the  good  as  if  you'd  never  took 


75 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

the  vacation.  Let  hubby  do  the  hustling,  and 
you  stay  home  and  take  it  easy. ' ' 

I  asked  her  why  she  didn't  practice  what 
she  preached.  She  surprised  me  (for  I  never 
knew  she  had  been  married)  by  saying, 
"Sure,  I  did  it — last  summer.  I  didn't  start 
working  again  till  January.  I'm  waiting  for 
my  divorce  now,  and  I  want  alimony,  too,  just 
to  jar  Willie  Tightwad.  He  won't  pay  it,  of 
course — sure  not — but  it'll  hurt  his  feelings 
all  right,  all  right,  even  to  think  about 
paying." 

August  4.  Mr.  Stacey  was  quite  ugly  when 
I  went  out  for  my  coffee  and  doughnuts  at 
noon.  He  glared  at  me,  but  didn't  say  any 
thing.  I  was  so  afraid  of  being  reported 
again  that  on  my  way  in  I  stopped  and  chat 
ted  with  him  and  smiled  sweetly.  Imme 
diately  he  began  to  purr. 

It  was  terribly  hot  today — 96  degrees  in 
the  weather  bureau  and  about  110,  I  should 
judge,  down  in  the  toy  department.  It's  a 
rule  of  the  house  that  there  shall  be  no  ther 
mometer  here  in  the  basement,  although 
Blanche  told  me  one  of  the  city  laws  requires 
it.  But  they've  got  the  matter  in  the  courts, 
so  they  don't  have  to  pay  attention  to  the 
76 


An   Impulse  to   Art 

law.  I  don't  see  what  good  a  thermometer 
would  do  anyway.  What  we  need  is  fresh  air. 

Blanche  fainted  this  afternoon  and  so  did 
two  other  girls.  They  took  them  up  to  the 
cloak  room  and  laid  them  on  the  floor  under 
an  open  window.  Most  of  the  girls  who  faint 
work  in  the  basement.  Blanche  fainted  last 
week,  too.  I  don't  think  she  is  very  strong, 
but  she  won't  own  up  to  it.  This  afternoon 
she  came  down  after  an  hour,  very  sullen  and 
swearing.  She  said :  ' '  By  God,  kid,  if  I  was 
as  pretty  as  you,  I'd  get  something  easier 
than  this." 

August  14.  I  always  liked  to  read  in  novels 
that  the  heroine  was  excessively  soignee.  To 
be  scrupulously  neat  and  careful  about  my 
self  was  almost  a  mania  with  me,  when  I 
could  afford  that  luxury.  For  now  I  discover 
that  cleanliness  is  not  a  necessity,  but  a  lux 
ury.  It's  fearfully  humiliating  to  think  of 
that,  isn't  it?  We  have  just  one  little  tin 
bath-tub  in  the  house,  and  eighteen  lodgers — 
so  it's  obvious  that  I  can't  get  as  much  use 
of  it  as  I  would  like — I  spend  more  on  laun 
dry,  I  suppose,  than  any  two  other  people  in 
the  house,  but  even  so,  I  should  spend  twice 
again  as  much.  The  soot  is  something  f  right- 

77 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

ful,  inconceivable,  when  the  wind  is  from  the 
factories  to  the  east  and  southeast  of  us.  It's 
simply  impossible  to  keep  clean;  and  when 
you  acquiesce  in  that  fact,  when  you  lose  the 
ideal  that  at  all  events,  at  all  costs,  you  must 
be  clean,  you  lose  also  a  good  deal  more, 
you  lose  your  grip  on  the  whole  set  of  ideals 
that  were  near  relatives  to  that  one.  It  is 
hideous  to  feel  your  standard  lowering, 
hideous,  hideous.  But  beggars  can't  choose 
their  standards.  My  standard  is  lowering, 
because  I  am  losing  my  passion  for  cleanli 
ness.  And  that  is  happening,  because  pov 
erty  is  compelling  me  to  accept  uncleanness 
as  part  of  the  day's  work. 

It  is  destructive  of  pride  to  lower  your 
colors  so,  and  it  is  only  a  fine,  high  pride 
after  all  that  places  us  above  men.  But  I 
can't  help  it.  My  pride  must  be  lowered. 
My  pocket-book  ordains  it.  Kismet. 

August  18.  Last  night  (Saturday)  I  went 
to  dinner  with  old  Stacey.  It  wasn't  so  bad 
after  all.  He  took  me  out  to  a  beer  garden 
on  the  northwest  side,  where  there  was  a 
little  breeze  and  a  surprisingly  good  band.  I 
took  some  beer,  and  though  a  little  bitter,  it 
was  delightfully  cool  and  refreshing.  He 
78 


tried  to  get  sentimental  toward  the  end,  but  I 
managed  him.  He  took  me  home  on  the  car 
and  tried  to  kiss  me  good-night,  and  did  suc 
ceed  in  giving  me,  as  I  was  opening  the  door, 
a  little  peck  on  the  ear.  Such  an  idea  would 
have  given  me  the  shivers  once,  but  still 
beggars  can't  be  choosers.  I  had  a  nice  din 
ner  and  a  nice  time  listening  to  the  band,  and 
I  really  enjoyed  myself.  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
his  pompousness  and  self-importance  and 
silly  talk,  it  would  have  been  an  ideal  evening. 

August  19.  I  ought  to  be  twice  as  much 
ashamed  as  I  am,  but  Stacey  is  married!  I 
never  dreamed  it  until  this  morning  when 
Blanche  told  me.  Pretty  soon  the  old  repro 
bate  came  smirking  up,  as  fresh  as  paint. 
I  said,  "How  is  Mrs.  Stacey?",  but  it  never 
feazed  him  at  all.  He  just  puffed  out  his 
chest  like  a  pouter  pigeon  and  strutted  down 
the  aisle  with  a  killing  smile. 

September  15.  Another  man  is  making 
love  to  me  now — Bertie  Henry.  He  boards 
at  the  house.  He's  a  funny  little  man  and 
quite  harmless.  He  works  at  Hargis',  the 
fashionable  men's  haberdasher  on  Jackson 
Boulevard.  He's  sort  of  a  combination  model 
and  salesman,  for  he  has  to  wear  the  very 

79 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

latest  thing  in  neckties,  socks,  collars  and 
shirts  which  Hargis  sells.  He's  an  animated 
shop  window  for  them,  but  he  likes  it.  He 
says  it  gives  a  man  the  feeling  of  being  at 
the  very  top  of  his  profession  to  work  at  a 
store  like  Hargis'.  Besides  wearing  the 
latest  importations  of  masculine  lingerie,  he 
has  to  go  to  a  tailor  and  have  his  clothes 
made  to  order.  He  says  Mr.  Hargis  expects 
his  assistants  to  appear  like  gentlemen,  con 
sulting  with  other  gentlemen,  when  making  a 
sale,  and  nobody  can  do  that  in  ready-made 
clothes.  Bertie  also  invariably  wears  patent 
leather  shoes.  His  favorite  expressions  are 
Egad  and  Bah  Jove.  He  must  have  caught 
them  at  an  English  society  play  at  Powers'. 
Still  Bertie's  heart  is  not  bad,  and  he's  prob 
ably  as  good  as  the  rest  of  us. 

September  20.  Thinking  of  P.  and  every 
thing  all  day.  Can't  write;  must  stop  think 
ing.  Surprising  how  little,  after  all,  I  have 
been  thinking.  Too  busy,  I  suppose,  and 
tired  out. 

September  30.    After  I'd  been  out  to  dinner 

with  Stacey  again  he  got  so  insistent  that  I 

grew  frightened — and  then  Blanche  arranged 

everything.    I  wrote  him  a  note  at  her  sug- 

80 


An   Impulse  to  Art 

gestion,  saying  that  if  he  wished  I'd  meet 
him  that  evening  at  seven  o'clock  near  the 
door  of  the  Von  Moltke  summer  garden.  I 
went  on  that  I  was  sick,  and  would  he  please 
send  me  a  note  through  Blanche  as  to  whether 
he  could  do  it.  I  said  I  hoped  we  might 
become  goods  friends  again,  and  stay  friends. 

The  old  sinner,  according  to  Blanche,  ogled 
himself  in  a  looking  glass  back  of  the  counter 
for  a  full  minute,  then  sat  down  and  with  his 
fountain  pen  wrote  the  mushiest  effusion  one 
can  imagine  to  the  effect  that  his  dreams  were 
finally  nearing  realization,  etc.,  etc.  It  was  a 
perfect  mess  that  made  me  sick  to  read.  Of 
course,  I  didn't  meet  him,  but  the  next  Mon 
day  morning,  when  he  came  up  like  a  thun 
dercloud  and  began  to  scold  me  for  some 
alleged  breach  of  rule  and  threaten  a  report, 
I  leaned  over  the  counter  and  whispered  to 
him  that  if  he  didn't  behave,  both  to  me  and 
to  Blanche,  from  then  on,  I'd  send  a  copy  of 
the  letter  to  his  wife  and  show  the  original 
to  Mr.  Johnson.  You  ought  to  have  seen  the 
old  coward  shrivel  up.  Blanche  says  the 
only  thing  to  do  with  certain  guys  is  to  get 
'em  on  paper. 

October  21.  I  have  been  out  twice  to  din- 
81 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ner  and  the  theatre  with  Bertie  Henry.  He's 
not  really  a  man,  of  course,  but  he  is  kinder 
and  sweeter  natured  than  one  I  knew  who 
was  a  man,  though  a  very  selfish  one.  Bertie 
proposed  to  me  last  night.  I  found  out  that 
he  gets  eighteen  dollars  a  week,  and  in  order 
to  keep  his  place  he  has  to  use  every  cent  of  it 
on  his  " varnished  boots,"  shirts,  ties,  socks, 
and  tailor-made  clothes.  He  spends  an  hour 
every  evening  down  in  the  laundry  pressing 
his  coat  and  trousers  and  polishing  his  shoes. 
Of  course  he  gets  everything  from  his  store 
at  wholesale  rates,  but  his  dressing  keeps  him 
poor.  He  says  Mr.  Hargis  told  him  that  he 
paid  his  assistants  so  well  in  order  that  they 
might  invariably  and  at  all  times  appear  and 
act  like  gentlemen.  \Vhen  I  told  Bertie  that 
he  didn't  seem  able  to  support  a  wife,  he 
cried,  and  said  that  was  so,  but  he  loved  me 
and  couldn't  help  telling  me  so.  It  seems  he 
expected  that  after  we  were  married  we 
should  continue  to  board  in  Dearborn  Avenue 
and  go  down  town  together  in  the  morning, 
work  all  day  in  our  separate  stores,  and  come 
home  together  at  night.  A  beautiful  scheme. 
What  if  there  were  consequences? 
November  17.  Relief  and  Deliverance.  A 
82 


An   Impulse  to  Art 

Ked  Letter  Day.  I  am  going  on  the  stage. 
iYesterday  I  found  I  had  just  $10  left,  which 
would  last  me  about  ten  weeks.  That  is,  I 
spend  nearly  seven  dollars  every  week,  and 
make  six  or  under.  When  I  reckoned  it 
would  cost  me  four  and  a  half  dollars  a  week 
to  live,  I  was  only  counting  board  and  lodg 
ing.  I  had  forgotten  clothes,  laundry,  lunch 
down  town,  and  sometimes  when  I'm  ter 
ribly  tired  in  the  evening  or  it 's  raining,  car 
fare.  Then  I  have  spent  some  money  on 
fruit,  but  I  really  had  to.  They  have  been 
giving  us  here  in  the  boarding  house,  right 
through  the  summer,  pork  and  beans,  corned 
beef  and  cabbage,  fried  veal,  boiled  beef  and 
coffee  (chicory).  The  only  fruit  has  been 
stewed  prunes  every  other  day.  And  prac 
tically  no  vegetables,  except  boiled  potatoes 
or  lumpy  mashed  potatoes. 

When  I  saw  I  only  had  ten  dollars  left,  I 
thought  I  would  do  something  foolish  and  I 
went  to  the  theatre.  I  got  a  good  gallery 
seat  at  the  Temple  of  Fine  Arts,  where  there 
was  a  stock  company  in  "Sir  Richard's 
Second  Wife." 

The  plot  was  clever,  and  the  play  has  had 
a  great  success.  When  it  was  new,  three 

83 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

companies  were  doing  it  at  once.  But  I  was 
more  interested  in  the  poor  acting  of  the 
heroine  than  in  the  play.  I  didn't  blame  Sir 
Richard  much,  considering  what  a  stilted,  un 
natural,  simpering,  hysterical  fool  she  was, 
and  her  step-son,  who  was  the  villain,  had  all 
my  sympathy.  His  pleasure  with  that  idiotic 
Lady  Richard  must  have  been  short  lived. 

A  sudden  inspiration  seized  me;  I  would 
go  on  the  stage.  I  couldn't  act  worse  than 
the  woman  who  did  Lady  Richard,  anyway. 
I  found  from  an  usher  that  I  could  catch 
the  manager  of  the  company  at  the  theatre 
between  6 :30  and  7,  and  he  turned  out  to  be 
Henry  Leamington,  who  acted  Sir  Richard. 

He  was  sitting  at  a  desk  in  a  little  room 
on  the  second  floor  of  the  building  when  I 
went  in.  He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  smoking 
a  cigar.  He  is  really  good  looking  off  the 
stage,  but  his  hair  is  grayish  and  he  has 
wrinkles  about  his  eyes  and  month.  I  should 
judge  he  was  between  forty  and  forty-five. 
He  has  a  very  nice,  kind  smile. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  he  said,  looking  up  at 
me,  "stage  struck,  I  see." 

I  don't  know  how  he  saw,  but  I  told  him 


84 


An   Impulse  to  Art 

I  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage.  He  waited  a 
moment  and  then  said: 

"Sit  down,  my  child,  and  listen  to  me.  I 
have  a  small  part  in  the  company  which  you 
might  be  able  to  fill,"  my  heart  leapt,  "but 
I  am  not  going  to  give  it  to  you.  I  see  you 
have  never  been  in  the  business,  and  I  shan't 
be  the  one  to  start  you.  There's  enough  on 
my  soul  already.  Take  the  word  of  an  old 
actor,  one  who  knows  the  thing  inside  out, 
who's  starred  in  New  York  one  year  and 
played  one  night  stands  in  the  wilds  of  Ar 
kansas  the  next.  Go  back  to  your  home,  go 
back  to  your  friends,  go  back  to  the  young 
fellow  who  loves  you,  for  I  can  see  by  your 
pretty  face  that  there  is  one" — he  pinched 
my  cheek,  but  not  a  bit  in  an  offensive  way — 
"and  make  a  solemn  vow  that  you'll  never 
see  a  show  except  from  in  front." 

I  told  him  that  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
firmly  and  wanted  to  become  an  actress. 

He  seemed  to  become  angry,  for  he  walked 
up  and  down  and  gesticulated:  "You  don't 
know  what  you  say;  you  are  foolish,  foolish 
to  think  of  this  thing.  You  can't  begin  to 
conceive  what  the  life  is.  You  come  down  at 
9:30  in  the  morning  and  rehearse  for  next 

85 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

week's  play,  till  your  bones  ache  and  your 
head  swims.  At  1 :30  you  dress  for  the  mati 
nee,  for  we  have  one  every  day.  At  5 :30 
you're  out  for  supper,  and  at  7:30  you're 
back  to  the  theatre  to  get  ready  for  the  even 
ing  performance.  You  get  home  about  11 :30, 
after  a  sandwich  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  and 
spend  a  couple  of  hours  studying  your  part 
for  the  week  after  next,  which  you  must  have 
letter  perfect  the  following  Monday  morning. 
Don't  fool  yourself;  there  are  no  champagne 
suppers  in  the  stock  business;  there  are  no 
Johnnies  at  the  stage  door.  It's  just  hell 
without  trimmings." 

Then  I  burst  back  at  him  and  told  him 
that  I  wasn't  terrified  by  his  picture;  that 
if  I  had  to  have  hell  somewhere,  I'd  rather 
have  it  on  the  stage,  where  you  at  least  had 
a  chance  to  think,  than  at  Dawson  &  Daw- 
son's,  where  you  did  nothing  but  stand  up 
all  day  in  fetid,  foul  air  and  placate  the 
floorwalker. 

I  told  him  I  had  to  leave  there  anyway 
pretty  soon,  because  my  money  would  run 
out,  and  that  I  had  no  home  but  a  room  in 
a  boarding  house,  which  the  smoke  from  the 
soap  factories  came  into  when  the  wind 
86 


from  the  southeast;  and  that  there  was  no 
young  man  in  the  world  for  me  any  more. 

By  that  time  I  was  so  nervous  that  I  began 
to  cry,  and  he  said,  finally,  that  he'd  give 
me  a  trial,  and  that  I  was  to  report  for  re 
hearsal  tomorrow  (Monday)  at  nine.  He 
said  he  couldn't  give  me  a  salary  for  a  week, 
but  that  on  Monday,  November  twenty-fifth, 
I  should  begin  with  ten  dollars  a  week,  nearly 
twice  what  I  am  getting  now. 

Just  to  think!  Tomorrow,  I  am  to  go  in 
a  theatre  by  the  stage  door  and  become  a 
professional  actress.  I  wonder  if  Paul  will 
ever  see  me  act.  Poor  father — he  would  have 
hated  it,  I  know.  I  am  sorry  on  his  account. 
I  do  wonder,  though,  what  Paul  would  think 
if  he  ever  did  see  me  act.  I  have  not  had  a 
line  or  a  word  from  him.  Of  course  I  broke 
it  off — not  he.  That  at  least  I  am  thankful 
for — if  it  had  to  be  at  all.  I  hope  when  he 
does  see  me — he  will  some  day,  I  feel  sure 
— that  I  shall  have  made  progress  in  my 
(yes  my)  profession. 


87 


CHAPTER  X 


HIS  LIFE'S  WORK 

But  the  saddest  tale  we  had  to  tell, 

Fol-de-rol,  de  rol-rol-rol, 
Was  ivhen  we  bade  old  Yale  farewell, 

Fol-de-rol,  de-rol-rol-rol. 

The  senior  class  was  going  home.  It  was 
singing  together  for  the  last  time  as  it  stood 
in  the  railroad  station.  Then  a  train  pulled 
in  bound  north,  and  another  train  pulled  in 
bound  south.  The  men  clambered  into  the 
cars,  crowded  the  rear  platforms  and  looked 
out  from  the  windows. 

As  the  trains  began  to  move,  and  the  dis 
tance  between  them  widened,  hands  were 
waved,  there  were  shouts  of  "Remember  to 
write,  Pete;"  "Good  luck  and  God  bless  you, 
Dick;"  "Good-bye;"  "Good-bye,  old  man;" 
"Good-bye."  Then  the  senior  class  volleyed 
88 


His   Life's  Work 

out  the  long  cheer  for  the  last  time,  and 
when  the  distance  between  the  trains  was  so 
wide  that  no  human  sound  could  bridge  it, 
the  senior  class  was  no  more. 

"That's  the  last  of  Yale,"  said  Carl,  sigh 
ing. 

"Yes — and  now  for  life,"  answered  Paul. 
They  were  sitting  with  Lassie  Ellis  and 
Billy  Dunbar  in  the  smoking-and-drinking 
car.  The  four  planned  to  spend  two  or  three 
days  together  at  the  Wildmerding  New  York 
house,  which  was  empty  except  for  the  three 
servants  who  had  been  sent  up  from  the 
country  to  care  for  the  young  master  and  his 
guests. 

When  they  reached  the  city  Paul  was 
pleased  to  have  the  English  valet  who  met 
them  at  the  station  take  his  bag  and  his  trunk 
checks,  was  pleased  to  have  his  clothes  un 
packed  and  laid  away,  to  have  his  bath  run 
for  him,  to  have  his  dinner  coat  laid  out 
and  the  studs  put  in  his  shirt.  When  the 
valet  had  finished  these  devoirs,  he  inquired, 
deferentially,  "Anything  more,  sir?" 

"Nothing;  much  obliged." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  valet,  and  van 
ished  noiselessly. 

89 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

Paul  meditated  upon  this  answer,  then 
laughed.  "I  fancy,"  he  reflected,  "that  it 
is  much  easier  to  learn  to  do  with  this  sort 
of  thing  than  to  learn  to  do  without  it." 

While  they  were  dressing,  Carl  went  into 
Ellis '  room.  *  *  Lassie, ' '  he  began,  *  *  you  know 
I've  arranged  to  get  Paul  a  job  with  the 
brokerage  firm  of  Cowan,  Eckstein  and  Sal- 
tonstall.  Do  you  know  any  of  them  person 
ally?" 

"I  know  Sal  tons  tall;  Boston,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  they  have  a  big  Boston  business,  and 
he  takes  care  of  it.  Cowan  and  Eckstein  run 
the  New  York  end.  I  picked  out  this  firm 
for  Paul,  because  they're  young  and  ambi 
tious  and  he  has  a  chance  to  become  a  part 
ner;  and  he  never  could  with  an  old  estab 
lished  concern.  Cowan's  a  converted  Jew. 
His  father's  name  was  Cohen,  but  the  son 
has  married  a  very  nice,  second-class  Chris 
tian,  the  daughter  of  a  cotton  broker.  The 
girl's  really  fine — very  musical  and  talented 
and  nice-looking,  but  she  was  never  in  things. 
She  and  Cowan  run  around  with  a  set  of 
their  own,  mostly  converted  Jews,  and 
they're  all  as  rich  as  mud.  They  have  an 
enormous  marble  palace  of  a  club  of  their 
90 


His   Life's  Work 

own,  and  they  take  their  women  there  to  lunch 
and  dinner.  They  have  some  splendid  coun 
try  places  scattered  up  and  down  the  Sound, 
and  yachts  to  carry  them  up  to  the  city  every 
day;  for  they  seem  to  stay  on  the  job  in 
spite  of  their  money.  Cowan  is  a  leader 
among  the  younger  ones  of  that  crowd,  and 
they  do  a  lot  of  their  trading  with  him. ' ' 

"Well,  who's  Eckstein?"  sputtered  big 
Ellis,  through  his  shaving  lather. 

"Eckstein's  a  Jew,  and  he  doesn't  care 
who  knows  it.  He  isn't  converted,  doesn't 
want  to  be  and  never  will  be.  He  even  speaks 
with  a  slight  accent.  I  went  down  to  his 
office  a  couple  of  times  to  talk  about  Paul  to 
him.  He's  as  smart  as  Muriel  Evers  looks 
driving  that  new  cob  of  hers.  He  never  quits 
working.  He's  not  after  society  or  pleasure 
or  enough  to  retire  on,  nor  anything  else  but 
cold,  iron  cash.  He  gets  a  lot  of  trade  for 
the  firm — a  good  many  of  the  big  theatrical 
managers  of  his  own  faith,  a  number  of  book 
makers,  and  he's  used  sometimes  by  the  big 
firms  of  the  street  when  they  want  to  cover 
their  work.  But  the  firm  is  weak  with  our 
kind  of  people;  and  if  they  could  get  a  line 


91 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

into  Newport  and  the  Handball  Club  crowd, 
they'd  be  better  developed  all  around." 

4 'Now,  if  you  and  I  boost,"  continued  Carl, 
adjusting  his  black  butterfly  tie,  "with  the 
help  of  other  Tong  and  Shovel  men,  we  can 
get  Paul  into  the  Handball  Club  away  ahead 
of  his  place  on  the  list.  He's  as  big  an  ath 
lete  as  they  ever  had  in  there,  and  he's  really 
a  nice  simple  fellow,  and  all  he  wants  is 
backing.  Get  Jim"  (Jim  was  Lassie's  older 
brother)  "to  shove  him,  won't  you?" 

"Sure,"  said  Lassie,  drawing  on  his  din 
ner  coat.  "Let's  have  a  cocktail." 

Carl  pressed  a  button  in  the  wall.  "We're 
going  to  meet  Eckstein  at  Martin's  after  the 
show  tonight,"  said  he.  "When  you  get  a 
chance,  tell  him  confidentially  how  much  you 
think  of  Paul,  and  that  Jim  will  help  him 
into  the  Handball  Club,  and  that  you'll  do 
what  you  can  to  get  trade  for  him,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  If  they  think  Paul's  going  to 
be  valuable  and  bring  a  lot  of  orders  into 
the  house  they'll  start  him  off  better. 
Savvy?" 

The  decorous  servant  tapped  lightly  at  the 
door,  then  silently  turned  the  knob  and  noise 
lessly  entered. 

02 


His   Life's  Work 

He  bore  two  gin  and  vermouth  cocktails 
upon  a  silver  tray.  Lassie  took  one  and 
gulped  it  down  as  eagerly  as  if  his  two  and 
twenty  years  of  splendid  youth  required  an 
alcoholic  crutch. 

"Good  cocktail,  Winston, "  he  addressed 
the  servant. 

' '  Thank  you,  sir, ' '  replied  the  menial,  van 
ishing  with  the  empty  glasses. 

"You  know,  Carl,  I'll  go  the  limit  for 
Paul,"  continued  Lassie.  "You  get  to  like 
a  fellow  after  rowing  with  him  three  years 
on  three  winning  crews,  and  being  captain 
over  him  the  last  year.  It's  too  bad,  though, 
that  he  has  to  grind  away  in  this  filthy  town 
all  summer.  I  only  wish  he  could  afford  to 
play  polo.  He'd  be  good  in  a  year  or  two — • 
eye  and  nerve,  quick  as  a  cat,  and  a  horse 
man's  shape." 

After  the  roof  garden,  the  four  young  grad 
uates  went  to  Martin's  for  supper. 

Carl  looked  about,  then  walked  over  to  a 
table  where  a  lean,  swarthy,  good-looking 
Jew  was  sitting  with  a  yellow-haired  girl. 
"Hello,  Mr.  Eckstein,"  said  he. 

' '  Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Wildmerding? ' ' 


93 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

answered  the  broker.  "May  I  prezent  Miss 
Montmorenzy  ? ' ' 

Carl  bowed  and  said,  "We  are  hoping  that 
you  and  Miss  Montmorency  will  join  us  for 
supper. ' ' 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure.  That  is  Mr. 
Ellis  with  you,  is  it  not?" 

Young  Wildmerding  smiled  covertly.  * '  Yes, 
that's  my  friend  Ellis,  and  my  roommate, 
Paul  Potter,  whom  you  are  going  to  take 
into  your  office." 

Mr.  Eckstein  said:  "Won't  you  be  zeated, 
Mr.  Wildmerding,  and  have  a  little  glass  of 
wine?"  Carl  drew  out  a  chair. 

"Your  friend,  Mr.  EUis,  is  a  son  of  Mr. 
Harvey  Ellis,  the  steel  man?"  queried  Mr. 
Eckstein,  softly. 

"Yes,  his  favorite  son,"  answered  the 
youth,  blandly  sipping  his  champagne. 

But  Miss  Montmorency,  who  had  had 
few  chances  to  sup  with  two  such  golden 
youths,  grew  impatient.  She  signaled  Eck 
stein  with  her  eyebrows  and  arose.  ' '  Indeed, 
I  should  be  chawmed  to  take  supper  with  you 
and  your  friends."  Then  she  and  Eckstein 
and  Wildmerding  moved  to  the  table  where 
Paul,  Lassie  and  Billy  Dunbar  were  seated. 
94 


His   Life's  Work 

After  the  introduction,  which  Miss  Mont- 
morency  acknowledged  with  exaggerated  fa 
tigue,  in  a  dragging,  throaty  drawl,  Carl  and 
Lassie  did  their  parts  for  Paul.  They  drew 
him  continually  into  the  talk,  laughed  at  his 
jokes,  told  stories  of  his  football,  and  made 
it  plain  to  Eckstein  that  they  were  all  three 
most  intimate  friends.  Lassie  confidently  as 
sured  the  broker  that  he  could  persuade  his 
"old  man"  (Eckstein  pricked  up  his  ears  at 
the  mention  of  that  mighty  being)  to  give  an 
occasional  order  through  Paul. 

The  broker's  eyes  gleamed.  He  forgot  to 
be  annoyed  at  the  rather  silly,  vinous  re 
marks  which  Billy  Dunbar  was  addressing  to 
Miss  Montmorency.  If  by  any  miracle  old 
Harvey  Ellis  could  be  persuaded  by  his  son 
(his  favorite  son,  too)  to  give  a  few  orders 
through  Paul,  then  he,  Eckstein,  would  see 
to  it  that  the  old  man  was  so  well  satisfied 
that  he  would  come  back  again  and  again— 
and  that  meant  LOTS  OF  MONEY  for  Eck 
stein. 

The  next  afternoon  Paul  went  to  the  offices 
of  Cowan,  Eckstein  and  Saltonstall  to  be  in 
structed  by  the  second  partner.  In  rapif1 
purring  sentences  Mr.  Eckstein  instructed  the 

95 


A   Little   Brother  ot  the   Rich 

novitiate  in  the  mysteries  of  the  brokerage 
business. 

"You  have  been  in  a  country  bank,  Mr. 
Potter?  Good.  But  the  zituation  is  not  pre- 
zisely  the  same  here.  We  brokers  all  charge 
the  same  commissions  for  making  trades— 
one-eighth  of  one  per  cent.  And  so  the  cuz- 
tomer  has  little  to  choose  between  us  as  far 
as  rates  go.  The  perzonal  element  enters. 
Brokers  should  therefore  make  friends  with 
those  who  trade." 

Mr.  Eckstein  then  explained  in  consider 
able  detail  the  nature  and  composition  of  the 
various  cliques  of  people  in  New  York  who 
were  in  the  habit  of  buying  and  selling  stocks. 

He  pointed  out  that  his  firm  lacked  con 
nections  with  fashionable  society.  He  said 
it  would  have  been  desirable  to  the  firm  to 
have  taken  on  a  man  who  was  a  member  of 
that  set,  but  that  Paul,  with  the  aid  of  his 
influential  young  friends  with  whom  they  had 
supped  last  night,  Mr.  "Wildmerding  and  Mr. 
Ellis,  as  well  as  with  the  assistance  and 
friendship  of  Mr.  James  Ellis,  Mr.  Ellis 's 
older  brother  (Paul  was  amused;  he  had 
never  seen  Jim  Ellis),  would  doubtless,  with 
perzeverance  and  patience,  become  a  member 
96 


His   Life's  Work 

of  the  Handball  Club  and  a  friend  to  the 
gentlemen  of  the  rich,  gay,  sporty  young  so 
ciety  set.  Of  course,  if  Paul  only  knew  the 
women  of  that  set,  it  would  be  better  yet, 
as  many  of  them  traded  a  good  deal,  but 
since  he  did  not,  and  since  he  was  as  yet  in 
expert,  he  would  be  started  on  a  salary  of 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars  a  year. 

Mr.  Eckstein  was  talking  rapidly.  He 
paused  to  light  a  big  black  cigar  and  to  offer 
Paul  one.  "Now,  that  extremely  handzome 
salary  of  twenty-five  hundred  dollars,"  he 
went  on,  ' '  which  we  have  decided  to  pay  you, 
not  for  what  you  can  do  now,  but  for  what 
you  may  do  in  the  future,  we  are  frank  to 
say  we  expect  you  to  spend.  You  must  dress 
in  swell  style,  and  when  you  are  with  the 
young  men  whose  friendship  we  expect  you 
to  gain,  be  generous  to  a  fault.  In  fact,  we 
are  free  to  say  that  if  you  can  demonstrate 
that  you  are  invezting  our  money  wisely  in 
the  making  of  a  valuable  friendship,  we  shall 
advance  you  whatever  extra  sum,  in  reason, 
may  be  required.  You  must  economize  when 
you  are  not  in  that  company,  but  when  you 
are  with  it,  be  generous,  be  free,  be  open- 
handed.  It  pays." 

97 


»an  dwi! 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN  HIERARCHY  OF  DESIRE 

The  four  friends  were  sitting  at  a  table 
on  a  New  York  roof,  sipping  bock  beer,  lazily 
watching  the  changing  colors  thrown  by  the 
searchlight  through  various-hued  glass  slides 
upon  the  tighted  legs  and  flashing  skirts  of 
the  black-faced  Sambo  dancers.  The  girls  in 
tights,  holding  watermelons  under  their 
arms,  made  fantastic  motions  in  their  efforts 
to  escape  from  the  girls  in  skirts,  who  fol 
lowed  with  a  long,  shuffling,  foot-scraping 
crouch. 

Big  Lassie  Ellis  snapped  his  thick,  strong 
fingers  loudly.  ' '  Hey,  waiter ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"Bring  me  a  pair  of  opera  glasses."  The 
waiter  returned  a  sullen  look  to  the  peremp 
tory  tone;  but,  as  he  glanced  at  the  tip  be 
fore  slipping  it  into  his  pocket,  quickly  vouch 
safed  an  apologetic,  "Thank  you,  sir." 
98 


An   Hierarchy  of  Desire 

The  thick-shouldered  oarsman  adjusted  the 
lenses  with  less  than  his  usual  stolidity,  then 
smiled  contentedly. 

"I  know  a  couple  of  'em,  Carl,  though  its 
hard  to  spot  'em  under  their  war  paint.  How 
about  going  to  supper  with  them?" 

"Which  ones?"  queried  Billy  Dunbar,  cau 
tiously. 

'  *  The  second  Sambo  from  the  left  and  the 
Dinah  on  the  right  end." 

The  other  three  in  turn  squinted  through 
the  glasses.  "The  Sambo  for  mine,"  chir 
ruped  Billy,  "though  it's  hard  to  tell,  with 
all  that  burnt  cork  on  it,  whether  her  face 
is  pretty." 

"It  is,"  grunted  Ellis,  who  was  scribbling 
on  the  back  of  a  wine  list.  "Hey,  waiter!" 
The  man  rushed  up.  "Please  see  that  Miss 
Cleo  Baskerville  gets  this  note;  hurry  back 
with  the  answer;  and  this  is  for  yourself." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir." 

"I  say,  Paul,"  whispered  Carl,  "I  don't 
know  whether  I  ought  to  go  out  to  supper 
with  those  dolls,  considering  I'm  to  be  mar 
ried  in  the  fall.  Not  that  there's  any  harm 
in  it,  of  course,  but  I  might  be  seen.  But 
you  go  with  Lassie  and  Billy,  and  I'll  give 

99 


A   Little   Brother  of  the    Rich 

you  a  latchkey,  so  you  can  come  in  when 
ever  you  like." 

The  waiter  returned  with  a  note.  Ellis 
quickly  tore  it  open. 

"Cleo  and  Irene  de  Querouaille  (that's  a 
lovely  name)  will  meet  us  in  front  of  the 
ladies'  cloak  room  at  Dupre's  at  11:15,"  ex 
plained  Lassie,  as  he  read.  ''Now,  let's  go 
to  the  Leopard  Club  for  half  an  hour.  It's 
right  on  the  way. ' ' 

As  the  rubber-tired  hansom  traveled 
swiftly  and  smoothly  down  Broadway's 
lighted  lane,  Paul  sighed  happily.  "And 
this  is  the  Tenderloin,"  said  he  to  Billy  Dun- 
bar,  with  whom  he  was  riding. 

"The  very  heart  of  it." 

"How  many  restaurants  there  are  on  this 
street — and  hotels." 

"Yes,"  explained  Billy;  "these  restaur 
ants  and  hotels  are  supported  chiefly  by 
westerners  who  come  here  for  a  week  or 
two  each  year  and  blow  in  a  big  wad  on 
chorus  girls  and  then  go  home  and  kick  about 
wifie's  extravagance  when  she  wants  a  new 
bonnet.  Everything  goes  in  these  places,  as 
long  as  you  pay  for  it.  Have  you  noticed,  too, 
what  a  lot  of  jewelry  shops?  Well,  that's  the 
100 


An   Hierarchy  of  Desire 

way  the  big  spenders  do  their  courting.  They 
have  a  daily  paper  here  which  comes  out  at  1 
o  'clock  in  the  morning,  when  most  of  its  read 
ers  are  widest  awake,  with  nothing  in  it  except 
race  horses  and  actresses.  It  makes  good 
money,  too.'* 

Paul  sighed  again.  He  whistled  softly  the 
refrain  from  "Dick  Whittington, "  which  all 
the  Tenderloin  was  whistling  that  summer. 
His  dream  city  lay  before  him.  Could  he 
take  it,  as  Whittington  had? 

The  cabs  swung  down  a  side  street  and 
drew  up  before  a  tall  narrow  building.  A 
servant  in  livery  held  the  door  open  for  the 
young  men  as  they  entered.  ' '  Good  evening, 
Mr.  Ellis;  good  evening,  Mr.  Wildmerding. 
Will  you  kindly  enter  the  names  of  your 
guests?"  he  said,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other. 

They  went  into  a  very  high  ceilinged,  oak 
paneled  room,  set  about  with  small  round 
tables,  which,  save  for  two  other  young  men 
at  the  far  side  of  it,  was  empty. 

"This  is  the  Leopard    Club,"    explained 

Wildmerding;  "it  doesn't  amount  to  much. 

It's  only  used  by  those  just  out  of  college, 

while  they're  waiting  for  the  Handball  or 

101 


A   Little   Brother,. of  the  Rich 

Lion's  Head.  Lassie  and  I  have  been  in  it 
Bince  we  were  sophomores. ' ' 

4 'It's  hot  enough,"  said  Lassie,  wiping  his 
forehead.  ''Let's  have  gin  sours;  they're 
cooling."  The  others  nodded  acquiescence. 
"Boy — four  gin  sours." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  and  hurried  sil 
ently  away.  Paul  liked  the  club  better  than 
tfce  restaurant.  There  was  greater  quietness 
and  ease,  less  noise,  more  deference  from 
the  servants.  Here  Luxury  seemed  to  sit  on 
a  more  accustomed  throne,  to  bestow  her 
smiles  with  chaster  reserve;  while  in  the 
gaudy,  too  brilliantly  lighted  restaurants  she 
gave  herself  readily  and  unrestrainedly,  to 
each  raw  stranger  possessing  gold. 

When  the  glasses  and  siphons  had  been 
placed  upon  the  table,  Billy  asked:  "You're 
going  abroad,  Lassie?  For  how  long?" 

Big  Ellis  set  his  glass  down  and,  lighting 
a  gold-tipped  cigarette,  began:  "Ever  since 
I've  been  a  little  kid  I've  had  certain  ambi 
tions.  I  never  talked  much  about  'em.  But 
I'll  tell  you  fellows  tonight,  because  it  may 
be  some  time  before  I  see  you  again.  First 
place,  I'd  always  wanted  to  kill  a  moose. 
Well,  that's  done.  That  fellow  up  there  I 
102 


An   Hierarchy  of  Desire    ... 

got  last  fall  in  Manitoba."  He  pointed  at 
an  enormous  shovel-horned,  proboscised  head 
which  hung  over  the  mantel  piece.  ;,  Oj 

"But  that's  about  the  only  one  of  my  am 
bitions  I  ever  achieved,  except  of  course  row 
ing  on  the  crew,"  he  went  on.  "I  want  to 
finish  in  the  first  flight  in  the  fastest  grass 
country  of  Warwickshire  or  Leicestershire. 
That'll  be  pretty  hard,  because  I'll  ride  at 
190,  I'm  going  to  try  it  late  this  autumn; 
anyhow.  Then  I  want  to  climb  the  Matter- 
horn.  Of  course,  lots  of  people  have  done 
it  since  Whymper,  but  it's  nothing  easy  just 
the  same.  There's  a  pretty  high  percentage 
of  casualties  every  year.  I'll  have  a  whack 
at  that  this  summer.  I'm  also  going  to  swim 
the  Hellespont,  not  because  it's  particularly 
hard — for  it  isn't — but  because  it  has  had, 
the  name  of  being  a  good  deal  of  a  trick  ever 
since  Byron  and  Leander  did  it." 

"You'll  have  lots  of  fun,"  suggested  Carl, 
who,  for  his  domesticity,  would  not  be  able 
to  indulge  the  wanderlust. 

"And  then  I'm  going  to  have  a  try  at 

something  real — that  is  shooting  a  tiger  on 

foot.     I've  wanted  to  do  that  ever  since  I 

read  Kipling's  story  about  it.    Kipling's  also 

103 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

made  up  my  mind  for  me  to  kiss  one  of  those 
Mandalay  girls;  and  on  my  way  home  I'm 
going  to  get  some  surf  riding  in  Honolulu, 
and  finish  up  next  summer  with  a  monstrous 
Kadiak  bear  in  Alaska." 

Billy  Dunbar  closed  his  eyes  in  pretended 
rapture.  "Ah,  what  a  life,  Lassie.  How  I 
wish  I  could  go  with  you." 

"Aw,  come  off  the  perch,  Billy,"  laughed 
Lassie,  roughly.  "You  couldn't  stand  it  off 
the  cocktail  route  for  two  weeks  straight. 
You'd  look  good  going  through  a  jungle  of 
tall  bamboo  canes  that  radiate  heat  like  steam 
pipes.  Why,  you'd  melt  down  into  a  couple 
of  pints  of  alcohol." 

Paul  flushed  at  the  brutality  of  Lassie's 
remark,  but  Billy  himself  did  not  seem  to 
care  at  all.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  born 
weak  and  thin-blooded  and  without  energy. 
He  knew  that  he  had  been  dissipating  pretty 
steadily  ever  since  his  freshman  year,  and 
that  his  half-hearted  efforts  to  stop  himself 
had  failed.  His  only  pride  in  the  matter  was 
that,  no  matter  how  drunk,  he  always  man 
aged  to  behave  quietly  and  "like  a  gentle 
man." 

Ellis  grew  sorry  for  his  rudeness  to  harm- 
104 


An    Hierarchy   of  Desire 

less  little  Billy,  and,  slapping  him  on  the 
knee,  explained:  "I  was  only  horsing  you, 
old  man.  We  have  time  for  just  one  more. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"I  think  I  can  go  another,  thanks,"  an 
swered  Billy.  Then  Lassie  passed  around 
his  gold  cigarette  case,  and  peace  was  re 
stored. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  then  closed  it  with 
a  snap.  "It's  quarter  past,  now,  boys,"  he 
said;  "come  on,  we  don't  want  to  keep  the 
girl«  waiting." 

As  the  party  rose,  Carl  hesitated.  "I 
don't  know  whether  I'd  better,  Lassie." 

But  Ellis'  domineering  spirit  was  not  to 
be  denied.  ' '  You  make  me  ache,  Carlie.  They 
won't  eat  you  alive.  Besides  there  are  only 
two  of  them  and  four  of  us,  and  I  guess  the 
rest  of  us  can  guarantee  your  safety.  How 
about  it,  Billy?" 

He  laughed  as  he  shoved  his  mighty  elbow 
heavily  into  Dunbar's  ribs. 

The  supper  consisted  of  various  kinds  of 
sea-food,  cheese,  coffee  and  much  champagne. 
The  girls  talked  a  steady  stream  of  slang, 
and  the  young  men  smoked  a  constant  suc 
cession  of  cigarettes.  Cleo  early  marked 
105 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

Lassie  for  her  own,  but  Irene  set  her  eyes 
.on  Carl  in  vain. 

Billy  had  grown  quite  drunk,  but  Paul,  to 
whom  this  was  a  novel  form  of  entertain 
ment,  kept  his  senses.  "Here,  Paul,  old 
scout,  you're  shyin'  your  drinks.  Come,  that 
won't  do.  When  you're  with  fren's — we're 
all  fren's  here,  aren't  we,  Cleo?"  boomed 
Ellis'  bass. 

"Yes,  by  Gawd,  all  friends  here.  Here's 
to  friendship — may  it  live  long  and  prosper." 
The  girl  raised  her  glass  to  the  sentir^nt. 
A  wisp  of  dyed  yellow  hair  lay  across  one 
painted  cheek.  Her  enormous  black  lace  hat 
was  a  trifle  askew. 

"Yes,  we're  all  fren's,"  Lassie's  heavy 
voice  continued,  "and  when  in  Rome  do  as 
the  Romans  do.  What  says  old  Omar — '  My 
self  when  young  did  eagerly  frequent';  no, 
I  mean  th'  other  one.  'Come,  Fill  the  Cup, 
and  in  the  Fire  of  Spring  your  Winter  Gar 
ment  of  Repentance  fling.'  It  goes  on  like 
that.  I  forget  the  rest  just  now." 

"That's  a  grand  pome,"  volunteered  Cleo. 
"I've  always  been  dead  stuck  on  it  since  you 
told  it  to  me  last  winter;  do  you  remember, 
Lassie?" 

106 


An   Hierarchy  of  Desire 

As  the  midnight  hour  passed  and  another 
day  began,  the  steady,  droning  buzz  of  talk 
grew  louder  in  the  immense,  high  ceilinged, 
scarlet-hung  room,  the  laughter  was  shriller, 
men's  eyes  duller,  women's  cheeks  more 
flushed,  neckties  and  picture  hats  fell  aslant. 

Carl  spoke  to  Paul  in  an  undertone: 
"Beady  to  cut  home,  old  chap?" 

"Yes." 

The  two  arose.  "Well,  so  long,  boys," 
they  said.  Lassie  sprang  up  and  passed  his 
arms  about  their  shoulders.  "Goo'  night, 
old  Paul;  goo'  night,  old  Carl;  best  fren's  I 
have,  'cept  Billy,  here.  He'll  stay  with  me 
an'  we'll  'scort  ladies  home.  Be  up  to  your 
house  in  a  few  minutes.  Goo '  night. ' '  Billy, 
sitting  at  the  table,  merely  waved  his  hand 
weakly  at  them. 

"Whew,"  said  Carl,  "that  was  rotten, 
wasn't  it?  I  was  a  chump  to  go,  but  I'm 
glad  I  did,  in  a  way,  because  it  shows  me 
there's  absolutely  nothing  in  it.  And  once 
I  thought  there  was." 

As  they  walked  slowly  up  Broadway,  the 
soft  summer  breeze  entered  their  tobacco 
laden  lungs,  and  their  steadied  hearts  beat 
grateful  thank-yous. 

107 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

Crowds  were  streaming  from  scores  of 
restaurants.  Young  men,  their  straw  hats 
tilted  back,  their  summer  overcoats  slung 
over  their  arms,  laughed  down  the  street, 
lightsomely.  Middle  aged  men,  jowled, 
paunched,  empurpled,  nature-tonsured,  be- 
diamoned,  breathing  heavily,  standing  on  the 
curbing,  holding  firmly  to  pretty,  young, 
white-clad  women,  waited  for  cabs  to  drive 
up  and  carry  them  away,  Bacchanals  beyond 
dancing. 

The  fire  burnt  in  Paul's  veins  as  he  heard 
the  rustling  of  women's  dresses,  the  click- 
click  of  high  heels  on  the  pavement,  as  he 
saw  the  huge  lace  hats  nodding  above  the 
smiles  of  scarleted  lips.  "So  many  girls," 
said  he,  "what  are  they  like?" 

"Just  what  they  look."  answered  Carl; 
"it's  a  case  of  money.  What  else  could  such 
a  raving  young  beauty  as  this  brown-haired 
one  we  are  passing  get  out  of  the  disgusting 
old  FalstafT  she  is  with?" 

Money  again.  Money  was  the  ultimate, 
controlling,  over-shadowing,  resistless  power. 
It  gave  to  its  possessor  dominion  over  men 
and  over  women.  Paul  would  get  money. 
He  would  work  his  fingers  bare  and  his  eyes 
]OS 


An   Hierarchy  of  Desire 

blind,  so  that  he  could  get  money  quickly, 
so  that  a  girl  as  beautiful  as  the  brown- 
haired  girl  they  had  just  passed  might  hold 
to  his  arm  as  he  walked  down  Broadway  at 
2  o  'clock  in  the  morning. 

He  strode  along  humming.  He  clenched 
and  loosened  his  hands  so  that  his  great  bi 
ceps  coiled  up  and  relaxed;  he  stiffened  his 
shoulders  and  the  splendid  rowing  muscles 
of  his  back  stood  out  hard  and  rigid  under 
his  black  coat;  he  breathed  to  the  bottom  of 
his  deep  lungs;  his  legs  seemed  made  of 
steel  cords,  so  fast  and  tirelessly  did  they 
bear  him. 

It  amused  him  to  picture  how  the  laughing 
pleasure  seekers,  who  were  brushing  him  by 
so  carelessly,  would  stop  and  stare  in  awful 
admiration  if  Omniscience  should  suddenly 
make  known  to  them  the  destiny  which  was 
in  store  for  him. 

The  next  morning  Paul  had  a  headache 
and  his  blitheness  had  departed. 

As  he  lay  in  bed,  miserable,  he  began  to 
appreciate  that  after  all  he  had  treated  Syl 
via  rather  badly.  His  eyes  had  become 
opened ;  he  seemed  to  have  a  fuller,  completer 
knowledge  of  life  and  its  meaning.  After 
109 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

all,  was  not  love  the  one  thing  worth  while? 
Could  a  man  climb  to  power  over  a  murdered 
love  and  so  find  happiness! 

Would  he  not  be  better  off  in  a  little  cot 
tage  with  Sylvia,  in  Darbeyville,  working 
quietly  and  unostentatiously,  returning  home 
in  the  twilight,  and  going  to  bed  early,  to  a 
long,  dreamless  sleep  ?  Then  all  about  would 
be  green  and  sweet  quietude,  instead  of  the 
hateful,  deafening,  maddening  clatter  of 
hoofs  upon  the  asphalt  of  the  city  street. 
Those  painted,  noisy,  vulgar  girls  at  supper 
— how  hideous  it  all  had  been. 

Carl  entered  fresh  and  rosy  from  his  bath, 
the  water  dripping  from  his  hair  upon  the 
collar  of  his  silk  dressing  gown.    He  lifted 
his  voice  and  piped : 
vlnobbirs   F. bo/fa  wwj  -;».:•.:•»   ;        .'•',-  ri:-; 

"The  year's  at  the  spring, 

And  day's  at  the  morn; 

Morning's  at  'leven; 

The  hillside's  deiv  pearled; 

The  lark's  on  the  wing; 

The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 

God's  in  his  heaven — 

All's  right  with  the  world" 


110 


An    Hierarchy  of  Desire 

"Oh,  cut  it  out.  I  feel  like  the  ragged 
edge,"  growled  Paul. 

"I'm  merely  quoting  you  Mr.  Browning, 
on  the  morning  after.  Wait  a  minute,  though, 
and  we'll  fix  you  up."  He  touched  the  but 
ton.  '  *  Bring  Mr.  Potter  a  dripped  absinthe, ' ' 
he  said  to  the  servant. 

*  *  Oh,  Lord,  no ;  what  do  you  take  me  for  f 
I  can't  look  another  drop  of  booze  in  the 
face  for  a  month." 

But,  over-persuaded,  finally  he  emptied  the 
glass  of  the  cool,  opaque,  grey-green  liquid. 
His  raw,  aching  nerves  were  numbed  by  the 
narcotic,  and  his  spirits  rose.  Resolutely  he 
thrust  his  visions  of  Sylvia  into  the  back 
ground,  to  be  evoked  no  more  until  in  his 
next  moment  of  depression,  sickness  or  un- 
success,  his  sore  spirit  again  cried  despair 
ingly  for  peace. 

For  as  to  Sylvia,  so  he  steadily  told  him 
self,  that  part  of  his  life  was  settled.  To 
regret  her  was  weak;  to  remember  her  was 
dangerous. 


Ill 


CHAPTER  XII 


EACQUETEERIXG 

Five  years  later  Paul  was  a  successful 
broker,  a  member  of  the  firm  of  Eckstein, 
Saltonstall  and  Potter. 

Through  the  kindly  influence  of  the  Ellis 
brothers  and  Wildmerding  he  passed  safely 
through  the  exclusive  portals  of  the  Hand 
ball  Club,  far  ahead  of  his  place  on  the  wait 
ing  list.  He  found  it  gave  him  a  certain 
advantage  to  room  at  the  club,  and  he  made 
it  a  rule  to  spend  the  hour  before  dinner  in 
the  cafe  where,  taking  cocktails  and  talking 
of  plays  and  players,  polo  and  yachting,  the 
opera  and  opera  invitations,  house  parties 
and  hostesses,  he  cemented  friendships  with 
rich  young  men  whose  friendships  might 
bring  grist  to  Eckstein,  Saltonstall  and 
Potter. 

For  ever  underneath  the  light  talk  of  their 
112 


Racqueteering 


amusements,  the  serious  thought  of  the  young 
men  lay  upon  stocks,  which  Midas-like  could 
gild  and  glorify  their  pride,  their  power, 
their  pleasures,  passions  and  position. 

The  sun  and  the  wind  touched  the  bosom 
of  the  earth  to  her  awakening,  crops  sprang 
forth  abundantly  to  the  tillage  of  millions  of 
men  and  horses  and  machines ;  grimy  gnomes 
toiled  in  the  dark  underground  to  bring  fuel 
to  the  light ;  keen-witted  and  resourceful  rail 
roaders  guided  their  lightning  caravans 
across  continents ;  children  of  five  years  spun 
clothing  for  the  race;  and  the  two  and  one- 
half  hundred  young  aristocrats  of  the  Hand 
ball  Club  guessed  about  the  prices  of  stocks, 
in  the  happy  compact  with  Fate  that  if  they 
guessed  wrongly  they  need  but  draw  a  check 
or  two  against  bank  accounts  which  had  de 
scended  upon  them  freely  and  copiously,  like 
manna,  from  the  days  of  their  minorities; 
and  that  if  they  guessed  aright  they  might 
still  farther  extend  the  wide  boundaries  of 
their  superfluities  of  luxury  and  brighten  the 
eyes  of  their  lights-of-love  with  pearls,  dia 
monds,  furs,  men-servants  and  high-stepping 
horses. 

In  those  days  the  air  of  New  York  was 
113 


A  Little  Brother  of  the  Rich 

electric  with  tips.  A  trust  had  been  made 
yesterday;  another  one  was  forming  today; 
a  third  was  rumored  for  tomorrow.  Stories 
were  told  of  headwaiters  in  hotel  cafes  who, 
through  overhearing  the  dinner  conversa 
tions  of  promoters,  had  multiplied  ten  fold 
in  ten  days  the  earnings  of  a  lifetime;  of 
show  girls  with  salaries  of  twenty-five  dol 
lars  a  week,  who  had  wormed  commercial 
secrets  out  of  their  drunken  lovers  and  gar 
nered  tens  of  thousands  of  dollars ;  of  fifteen- 
year-old  broker's  messengers  who  had  won 
enough  to  start  in  business  for  themselves  on 
the  curb.  The  whole  community  was  envi 
ously  inflamed;  and  most  of  it  joined  in  the 
grandest,  completest,  best  equipped  and  most 
seductive  gambling  game  of  which  history 
makes  record. 

Paul  was  a  capper  for  that  mastodonic 
gambling  game ;  but  he  did  not  find  it  neces 
sary  to  go  out  into  the  highways  and  by 
ways  to  seek  gamesters.  They  sought  him. 

Let  us  follow  him  through  two  hours  of 
a  winter  afternoon,  which  was  like  the  after 
noons  which  had  come  before  and  like  those 
which  would  come  after. 

At  five  he  played  racquets,  a  game  for 
114 


Racqueteering 


which  his  plastic,  symmetrical,  obedient  mus 
cles  and  accurate  eye  for  distance  served  him 
well.  Few  could  beat  him  when  he  extended 
himself.  Yet  he  lost  at  times  to  inferior 
players.  It  was  agreed  by  the  other  rac- 
queteers  that  he  was  a  good  sportsman,  who, 
winning  or  losing,  laughed  cheerily. 

On  this  afternoon  Paul  managed  neatly  to 
lose  a  close  match  to  a  young  plutocrat  whose 
heart  lay  much  in  the  game. 

After  their  showers,  Paul  called  across  the 
locker  room,  in  a  voice  from  which  nearly 
every  trace  of  Indiana  had  been  elided,  "I 
say,  old  man,  the  drinks  are  on  me.  Shall 
we  have  them  here  or  down  stairs'?" 

''Down  stairs.  We  did  have  a  close  time 
of  it,  didn't  we?  I  thought,  when  we  had  a 
game  apiece  and  you  ran  up  five  points  be 
fore  I  had  one  in  the  rubber,  that,  etc.,  etc. ' ' 

" Yes,"  agreed  Paul,  warmly;  "you  showed 
plenty  of  nerve  to  come  from  behind  that 
way." 

When  they  had  seated  themselves  at  a  lit 
tle  round  table  in  the  cafe,  the  young  pluto 
crat  asked,  "Aw,  by  the  way,  what  do  you 
think 's  the  market  outlook?" 

Paul  leaned  across  the  table  toward  his 
115 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

companion,  and  half  whispered:  "Market 
was  strong,  braced  by  Southeastern.  Pete 
Laidlew,  go-between  for  Duer  Brothers,  has 
been  spending  a  week  end  with  old  Ferguson 
on  his  New  Jersey  estate.  If  old  Ferguson 
and  the  Duers  will  only  stop  cutting  each 
other's  throats,  Southeastern  is  bound  to— 
here  Paul  threw  his  hands  upward  with  an 
expressive  gesture.  Pause.  Then  he  re 
sumed:  "Of  course,  too,  you  noticed  last 
April's  report:  gross  receipts  12  per  cent 
higher  than  any  previous  April." 

"Well,  you  think  it's  a  pretty  good  buy, 
then!" 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  responded  the 
cautious  Paul.  "We  do  a  strictly  commis 
sion  business,  you  know.  We're  not  tipsters. 
We  don't  want  you  to  invest  except  as  a  re 
sult  of  your  own  judgment." 

"But  what  do  you  think,  personally,  not 
as  a  broker,  but  just  as  a  friend?" 

"Well,  personally,  I'd  buy  S.  E.  But  mind, 
I  don't  advise  you,  old  man." 

"Oh,  of  course  not.  I  understand.  Well, 
I  tell  you  what  to  do:  Buy  me  a  couple  of 
thousand  shares  at  the  market  tomorrow  and 


116 


Racqueteering 

hold  it  until  further  orders.  Ten  points  mar 
gin." 

Paul  appeared  to  hesitate.  "Of  course,  if 
you  don't  care  to  buy  it  outright — but  it's 
my  opinion  you'll  be  safe  with  ten  points. 
We'll  be  glad  to  execute  your  order — and 
much  obliged.  Hope  you'll  have  good  luck 
with  it.  Dining  here  tonight?" 

Paul's  tone  was  casual,  but  his  heart  re 
joiced.  He  had  lost  two  games  of  racquets 
and  two  Scotch  highballs,  but  he  had  won 
an  order,  and  perhaps  a  customer.  Success, 
as  he  knew  it,  had  visited  him  that  day. 

B£  the  beginning  of  his  sixth  year  as  a 
broker,  he  was  not  indeed  Harvey  Ellis' 
right  arm,  nor  even  his  left,  but  one  of  the 
hundred  arms  which  that  Briareus  of  specula 
tion  used  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  mystify,  his 
antagonists  in  the  battles  of  the  street.  These 
hundred  arms  of  Harvey  Ellis  knew  not  the 
strategy  which  moved  them.  Often  he  set  two 
to  fighting  with  each  other,  while  a  third, 
fourth  and  fifth  moved  independently  of  each 
other  to  the  true  point  of  attack. 

Paul  was  now  making  between  twenty  and 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  a  year.  He  was 
credited  with  an  income  of  from  fifty  to  sev- 
117 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

enty-five  thousand.     He  felt  that  the  time 
had  come  for  him  to  go  into  society. 

He  had  shown  a  wise  restraint  in  check 
ing  his  impatience  for  this  ultimate  adven 
ture  until  his  fortunes  were  established.  The 
temptation  had  been  keen  and  constant  for 
him  to  essay  his  wings  earlier;  for,  with  the 
backing  of  the  Carl  Wildmerdings,  he  would 
unquestionably  have  been  asked  to  many 
houses  whose  front  doors  frowned  savagely 
on  the  usual  climber. 

But  he  knew  that,  as  long  as  he  was  rated 
at  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  a  year,  no  mother 
for  whose  opinion  he  cared  would  have  per 
mitted  his  serious  attentions  to  her  daugh 
ter.  And  with  the  mothers  opposed  to  his 
advance  he  realized  that  his  every  effort  must 
be  vain.  For  it  was  a  woman's  game  en 
tirely — and  the  older,  wiser  women,  the 
mothers  with  daughters  to  marry  or  sons  to 
keep  single,  directed  the  game  of  Spend  and 
Catch,  which  is  Society. 

But  now  Paul  was  believed  to  be  winning 
fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year  in  Wall  street. 
So  he  felt  that  he  would  be  welcomed  to  pay 
his  serious  court  to  all  but  the  very  pretty  or 
very  rich  girls  in  society. 
118 


Racqueteering 


Carl,  now  as  always  his  staunch  and  loyal 
friend,  no  sooner  received  the  vaguest  inti 
mation  of  what  was  passing  in  Paul's  mind 
than  he  invited  him  for  a  two  week's  cruise 
on  his  yacht,  the  Capuan.  Billy  and  Kath- 
erine  Dunbar,  Jim  and  Lassie  Ellis,  Mrs. 
Evers  and  half  a  dozen  others — maids,  men 
and  matrons — were  to  make  up  the  party. 

They  were  to  meet  at  the  Holland  House 
Saturday  morning,  coach  to  the  racetrack 
club-house,  lunch  there;  thence,  after  the 
races,  to  the  Capuan,  which  lay  off  the  New 
York  Yacht  Club  wharves,  and  dinner  on 
board. 

"Carl  is  a  mighty  good  friend  to  me," 
mused  Paul,  as  he  accepted  Anita  Wilmer- 
ding's  invitation,  "a  mighty  good  friend — I 
must  be  careful  not  to  lose  him." 


119 


CHAPTER  XIII 


SPORTSMEN  AND  SPORTSWOMEN 

The  luncheon  on  the  club-house  verandah 
Was  very  gay.  The  people  were  young,  the 
sun  was  bright,  the  breeze  was  salt,  the  chef 
had  been  faithful,  the  wine  steward  constant, 
the  servants  obsequious. 

An  expensive  and  elaborate  machinery  of 
production  had  been  evoked  to  design  for  the 
young  women  of  the  party  garments  which 
beyond  all  doubt  were  amazing  in  cost,  and 
which  the  fashions  of  that  season  as  certainly 
pronounced  beautiful;  the  happy  accident  of 
ancestry  had  crammed  the  pocket-books  of 
the  young  men  of  the  party  with  gold  cer 
tificates  to  wager  upon  the  fleetness  of  the 
toy  horses  and  the  knowingness  of  the  jock 
eys.  A  great  spectacle  was  in  preparation 
to  gratify  a  great  passion  of  mankind,  and 
Paul  was  to  view  that  spectacle  as  a  courtier 
120 


Sportsmen   and    Sportswomen 

in  the  shadow  of  the  seat  of  Emperor  Lucre, 
the  Sempiternal. 

Not  without  pride  did  he  help  that  lady  of 
the  court,  Mrs.  Eichard  Evers,  to  her  seat 
beside  him  at  the  luncheon  table.  Not  with 
out  pride  did  he  glance  from  his  place  in  the 
club-house  across  the  picket  fence  to  the  huge 
grand-stand  filled  with  packed  nameless  ple 
beians.  Not  without  pride  did  he  turn  his 
careless  back  upon  the  spectacled  young 
woman  who  was  inscribing  on  a  pad  of  paper 
for  publication  in  the  society  columns  of  the 
morrow's  metropolitan  press  the  names  of  the 
guests  at  the  races  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carl 
Wildmerding  IV. 

The  greater  courtiers,  older  in  service, 
higher  in  rank,  would  now  and  henceforth 
acknowledge  him  as  a  new  member  of  their 
order — a  novitiate. 

He  was  admitted,  but  he  must  remain  hum 
ble,  grateful  for  the  fact  of  his  bare  admit 
tance,  for  he  was  poor  in  money,  to  their 
counting.  He  realized  that  until  he  could 
pile  his  golden  heaps  upon  golden  heaps  he 
must  smile  to  their  sneers  and  humble  him 
self  to  their  quiet  scorn. 

Yet  he  was  content.  For  obscurity  among 
121 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

them  was  effulgent  to  his  spirit ;  their  greet 
ings  of  half  disdain  filled  him  with  a  sweeter 
rapture  than  the  applause  or  gratitude  of 
the  humble  could  ever  have  vouchsafed  him. 

For  he  was  a  little  brother  of  the  rich. 

Anita  Wildmerding  possessed  social  in 
stinct,  and  in  the  selection  of  her  guests  she 
had  skilfully  recognized  even  the  most 
vaguely  defined  of  those  new  interests  of  the 
season,  concerning  which  even  the  whispering 
had  not  yet  begun. 

It  was  almost  her  obsession  to  observe  and 
minister  to  the  ripening  of  mutual  charm 
between  those  pairs  of  men  and  women  whom 
she  had  invited  as  her  guests,  so  that  they 
might  portray  to  her  untiring  morbidly  keen 
observation  and  overpowering  delight  some 
new  manifestation  of  the  great  basis  of 
drama. 

Muriel  laughed  as  her  sister  expounded 
her  plans  for  the  yachting  party.  "Anita,0 
said  she,  "you  would  have  been  a  superb 
matchmaker — better  than  mamma — if  you 
would  not  always  do  your  scheming  to  help 
people  who  are  already  married." 

"That  reminds  me,"  replied  Anita,  "that 
I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you.  Carl  has  in- 
122 


Sportsmen   and    Sportswomen 

sisted  on  inviting  one  of  his  college  friends, 
his  old  roommate.  You  remember  him,  don't 
you!  The  tall  chap  you  danced  with  so  much 
that  time  we  went  to  the  Prom.  Paul  Potter 
is  his  name,  from  Indiana.  There  are  two 
or  three  extra  men,  so  you  needn't  be  bored 
with  him  all  the  time,  but  when  you  are  in 
the  way  of  it  be  nice  to  him,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  remember  Mm.  A  very  good 
looking  boy,  and  rather  agreeable  in  his 
gauche  fashion.  I  am  rather  bored  nowa 
days.  One  young  man  is  becoming  really 
tiresomely  exigeant.  Yes" — her  grey  green 
eyes  danced — "I  will  be  nice  to  Carl's  ward. 
I  really  was  becoming  so  bored  with  that 
exigeant  young  man."  She  smiled.  Anita 
shook  her  finger ;  then  Muriel  laughed. 

The  feature  of  the  racing  day  was  the  ten 
thousand  dollar  Firenzi  stakes  for  three-year- 
old  fillies,  at  one  mile  and  a  furlong.  It  was 
fourth  on  the  card.  The  Ellis  brothers  had 
won  the  opening  scramble  for  two-year-olds, 
but  had  nothing  in  the  Firenzi. 

Wildmerding   had    entered    two — Delight 

and  Ecstatic — and  they  were  installed  by  the 

bettors  as  favorite — 9  to  5  against  the  entry. 

Captain  Alaire,  a  tall,  straight,  slender  man 

123 


A   Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

with  iron  grey  hair,  a  great  sportsman  and 
racing-man,  was  sending  to  the  post  a  brown 
filly — Queen  of  Hearts.  Her  chances  were 
lightly  thought  of,  for  10  to  1  and  4  to  1  were 
laid  against  her.  Her  jockey  wore  all  crim 
son  ;  the  Wildmerding  colors  were  green  and 
gold.  Nine  were  carded  to  start. 

The  betting  ring  was  jammed  as  soon  as 
the  odds  went  up  on  the  stake  event.  Coat- 
less,  sweating,  straw-hatted  men  fought  each 
other  to  reach  the  bookmakers'  booths.  The 
roar  and  drone  of  those  who  were  strug 
gling  for  a  chance  to  draw  near  the  gambling 
stands  sounded  like  a  heavy,  veersome  wind 
whistling  through  wet-leaved  trees. 

Only  the  book-makers,  who  lived  in  such 
scenes,  were  calm.  One  stood  on  the  low 
step  in  front  of  each  little  booth,  holding 
a  sponge,  a  piece  of  chalk  and  a  pair  of 
field  glasses.  With  the  glasses  he  could  de 
cipher  the  figures  on  the  rival  blackboards 
clear  across  the  three  hundred  foot  roofed 
enclosure,  superheated  by  the  packed-in  bet 
tors.  Quietly  he  stood  marshaling  the  pas 
sions  of  the  pushing,  heaving  crowd  beneath 
him. 

The  entry,  which  opened  at  9  to  5,  was 
124 


Sportsmen    and    Sportswomen 

backed  down  to  8  to  5,  then  to  6  to  5.  The 
crowd  felt  ludicrously  sure  that  one  of  the  two 
Wildmerding  mares  must  win.  Many  who 
had  gone  to  the  track  doubtful,  as  soon  as  they 
saw  the  wild  betting  on  Delight  and  Ecstatic, 
became  positively  convinced.  Clerks  who, 
meaning  to  bet  a  dollar  in  the  field  books, 
had  slipped  out  to  the  races,  hoping  that 
neither  their  wives  nor  their  employers  would 
find  them  out,  found  themselves  swearing 
bitterly  as  they  jostled  each  other  in  their 
anxiety  to  reach  a  book-maker  and  hand  him 
a  ten  dollar  bill — half  a  week's  salary — with 
the  hoarse  words,  " Entry  straight." 

There  was  nervousness  in  the  grand  stand 
and  nervousness  in  the  club-house  porch 
when  the  bugle  sounded  and  the  nine  silken 
equine  toys,  ridden  by  little  boys  or  weazened 
men,  pranced  out. 

Wildmerding  and  Captain  Alaire  studi 
ously  preserved  the  appearance  of  calm. 
They  laughed  as  the  little  jockeys  tried  to 
line  up  the  curvetting,  hypersensitively  or 
ganized  thoroughbreds  shoulder  to  shoulder 
for  the  start,  but  Carl's  heart  was  beating 
double  time.  He  swallowed  the  lump  in  his 
throat  and  held  out  his  hand  to  his  rival, 
125 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

saying,  "Well,  Alaire,  may  the  best  filly 
win. ' ' 

Alaire  laughed  pleasantly:  "Certainly, 
certainly,  old  chap.  And  I  hope  if  it's  not 
to  be  mine  it  may  be  one  of  yours.  I  should 
like  to  see  a  gentleman  win  the  race. ' '  ( The 
owners  of  the  other  six  horses  in  the  race 
were  professional  horsemen,  who  trained 
their  own  horses  instead  of  hiring  it  done.) 

It  meant  a  great  deal  to  Alaire  to  have 
Queen  of  Hearts  win.  He  had  bet  $2;000 
against  $19,000  on  her,  and  the  race  itself 
was  worth  $10,000.  He  was  an  extravagant 
man  who  had  always  lived  beyond  his  income, 
and  this  $29,000  which  Queen  of  Hearts  might 
bring  him  by  less  than  two  minutes  running 
around  the  oval  track  would  help  him  through 
the  present  season. 

The  slender  fillies,  mincing  and  waltzing, 
almost  as  by  coincidence  fully  aligned  them 
selves.  A  couple  of  mighty  springs  from 
the  haunches  and  quarters  of  steel,  they  had 
struck  their  stride  and  bore  down  torrent- 
like  by  the  starter,  who  stood  on  a  little  plat 
form  fixed  on  the  inner  rail.  "Go!"  he 
yelled.  His  assistant  dropped  the  red  flag 
with  a  swish,  the  immense  crowd  in  the 
126 


Sportsmen   and    Sportswomen 

grandstand  stood  up,  a  mighty  synchronous 
roar  arose,  "They're  off!" 

Anita  Wildmerding  stood  leaning  upon  the 
railing  of  the  club-house  porch,  straining 
upon  the  race,  her  lips  parted,  her  breath 
coming  fast.  On  her  left  was  Alaire,  his  tall, 
slender,  graceful  figure  tightly  fitted  into  a 
grey  frock  coat,  a  gardenia  in  the  button 
hole.  On  her  right  stood  her  husband. 

Paul  stepped  back  to  stand  upon  a  chair 
behind  the  three,  for  it  was  hard  to  see  over 
the  huge  nodding  plumes  of  Anita's  hat.  As 
he  stood  behind  her  he  observed  that  her 
white  sleeve  was  pressed,  as  if  in  sympathy, 
against  the  grey  sleeve  of  Alaire  and  not 
against  Carl's  short  brown  one.  It  seemed 
strange  to  him  that  at  a  crisis  of  this  sort 
she  should  apparently  have  taken  sides 
against  her  husband  and  with  his  rival. 
Perhaps,  he  mused,  they  are  rivals  for  more 
things  than  the  Firenzi  stakes;  and  he  set 
himself  to  watch  a  play  more  fascinating 
than  that  of  the  thoroughbreds,  which  now 
for  the  first  time  swept  past  the  grandstand, 
a  whirling  mass  of  dust  speckled  with  the 
brilliant  colors  of  jockey  jackets. 

At  the  far  turn  a  pair  shot  out  of  the  ruck. 
127 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

One  jockey  was  all  in  crimson,  the  other  wore 
green  and  gold.  The  crowd  began  to  yell. 
Some  at  first  screamed  "Ecstatic!";  others 
implored,  "Come  on,  you  Delight";  but  only 
a  few  called  for  Queen  of  Hearts,  for  few 
had  bet  on  her.  The  jockey  in  green  and 
gold  was  carried  by  Ecstatic;  Delight  was 
already  beaten. 

As  the  two  leaders  on  even  turns  swung 
into  the  stretch,  Paul  saw  Anita  seize 
Alaire's  hand.  But  that  gentleman  did  not 
turn  his  head  for  even  a  glance ;  his  soul  lay 
a  furlong  up  the  race  track,  where  a  negro 
boy,  dressed  in  crimson  silk,  was  flogging  and 
spurring  an  exhausted  young  mare. 

The  noise  from  the  bettors  in  the  grand 
stand  was  that  of  a  thousand  cataracts. 
"Ecstatic!"  shouted  the  people,  snapping 
their  fingers  and  weaving  their  bodies  back 
and  forth  with  each  jump  of  the  filly. 

But  Ecstatic  did  not  win.  At  the  finish 
wire  the  lean  head,  the  blazing  red  nostrils, 
bulging  eyes  and  dripping  mouth  of  Queen 
of  Hearts  showed  three  feet  ahead  of  the 
favorite. 

Anita  now  put  her  slender  white-gloved 


Sportsmen    and    Sportswomen 

fingers  upon  her  husband 's  shoulder :  ' '  Hard 
luck,  old  boy,"  she  whispered,  "it's  too  bad.'* 

Then  she  said  to  Alaire,  extending  her 
hand :  "  To  the  winner.  Queen  of  Hearts  ran 
beautifully,  and  we  both  feel  that  if  we  had 
to  be  beaten,  we  are  glad  to  be  beaten  by 
you. ' ' 

Though  the  words  were  simple  enough,  the 
glance  of  radiant  delight  which  she  shot  at 
him  was  clear  in  meaning  to  him.  When  he 
took  her  hand  and  answered,  "Thank  you, 
dear  lady,  you  indeed  are  very  kind,"  he 
knew  that  she  would  know  he  was  thanking 
her  for  her  glance  of  radiant  delight,  and 
not  for  her  simple  words  of  congratulation. 

When  the  result  was  officially  announced 
from  the  judge's  stand,  Carl,  who  had  en 
tertained  a  last  hope  that  Queen  of  Hearts 
might  be  disqualified  for  short  weight,  walked 
into  the  cafe,  seated  himself  at  a  little  round 
mahogany  table  and  ordered  a  drink  of  rye 
whiskey  from  a  servant  who,  to  mark  his 
servility,  wore  evening  clothes  in  the  after 
noon. 

At  about  the  same  time,  in  the  plebeian 
grandstand,  many  another  bettor,  who  like 
wise  had  been  waiting  in  the  hope  of  Queen 
129 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

of  Hearts'  disqualification,  now  edged  his 
path  to  the  long  raw  pine  shelf  against  which 
men  were  pressing  three  deep,  and  behind 
which  sixty  coatless,  sweating  bar-tenders 
struggled  to  keep  up  with  strident  or  sulky 
orders  for  beer  or  whiskey.  No  mixed  drinks 
were  served.  There  was  not  time  to  mix 
them. 


130 


CHAPTEE  XIV 


TARRYING  IN  THE  CAPITAL 

The  long  June  day's  light  was  faint  and 
dying  when  the  Capuan  exchanged  with  her 
sisters,  the  kept  pleasure-craft  of  the  masters, 
four  rich-toned  double-strokes  from  her 
bronze  and  silver  bell. 

The  yachts,  which  had  been  held  leashed 
in  the  harbor,  their  prows  pointed  seaward 
by  the  flowing  tide,  now  began  one  by  one, 
as  they  slipped  their  anchors  from  the  mud, 
to  drop  slowly  down  the  river  to  the  sound. 

Beautiful,  graceful  and  bedecked,  they  pro 
ceeded  in  their  pride,  a  sterile  fleet,  hetaerae 
of  the  sea. 

Daintily  and  with  disdain  they  seemed  to 
glide  around  the  ugly,  uncouth,  dirty  work 
ing  ships,  but  they  saluted  with  sweet  court 
esy  the  terrible  great  darlings  of  Mars,  which 
were  the  valeted  bucks,  just  as  they  were  the 
131 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

painted  belles,  of  that  darkening  salt  water 
city. 

The  mate,  a  blue-eyed  Swedish  adventurer, 
called  out  his  orders,  not  without  decorum, 
to  a  crew  which  had  been  collected  from  all 
the  white  man's  world  to  take  Carl  Wild- 
merding  IV  a-yachting ;  while  the  big  Danish 
bo  'sun  drew  his  silver  whistle  from  the  breast 
pocket  of  his  clean,  fresh,  white  duck  sailor- 
suit,  cut  low  in  the  neck,  comic-opera-wise, 
and  smiled  as  he  piped,  remembering  that 
little  bit  of  floating  hell,  the  coasting  schooner 
Savannah,  in  which  he  had  made  one  voyage, 
which  was  not  decorous,  under  this  same 
blue-eyed  mate. 

The  Chinese  stewards,  robed  in  flowing 
blue  silk,  served  the  before-dinner  cocktails 
to  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Carl's  party, 
who,  freshly  groomed  by  body  servants, 
lounged  against  the  rail  or  sprawled  in 
steamer  chairs.  The  mighty  engines  turned 
over  the  twin  screws,  which  kicked  up  hostile 
diminutive  maelstroms,  and  the  Capuan 
moved  toward  deep  water. 

The  mate's  shoutings  ceased;  the  constant 
jangle  of  the  engines  ended  with  the  final 
tinkle  of  "full  speed  ahead";  the  watch  set- 
132 


Tarrying  in   the   Capuan 

tied  down  to  its  four  hours'  work;  and  din 
ner  was  announced  for  the  ladies  and  gentle 
men. 

The  ocean  lay,  a  vast  pane  of  iridescent 
glass  in  the  late  dim  twilight,  smooth,  opaque, 
glistening,  purple  and  green.  The  steady, 
muffled  throb-throb  of  the  engines,  coming 
as  regularly  as  the  ticking  of  a  watch,  soothed 
nerves  which  had  been  frayed  by  the  noise 
and  hot  glare  and  bitter  emulation  of  the 
race  course.  The  slant-eyed  stewards,  in 
their  rapidity,  silence  and  perfection  of  serv 
ice,  seemed  like  genii  of  Aladdin's  wonderful 
lamp,  in  being  only  to  obey  and  anticipate 
the  wishes  of  their  masters. 

"All,  delight,  pure  delight,  is  it  not,  my 
friend?"  began  the  musical  voice  of  Muriel 
Evers,  as  soon  as  the  diners  were  seated  and 
she  found  herself  beside  Paul.  '  *  What  could 
be  more  perfect  ?  This  truly  is  the  very  last 
word  in  living." 

* '  Oh,  yes, ' '  said  the  man,  vaguely. 

She  feared  she  had  seemed  over-earthly, 
and  corrected  herself :  ' i  Of  course  I  mean  as 
far  as  tilings  go.  The  pleasures  of  the  in 
tellect,  of  reading  and  studying  the  mighty 
thoughts  of  mighty  minds,  the  contemplation 
133 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

and  possibly,  for  some  of  us,  the  understand 
ing" — she  spoke  reverently — "of  the  true 
Art  of  the  world,  the  happiness,  ecstasy  and 
unalloyed  self-abandonment  of  a  great  love, 
a  love  of  understanding  and  mutual  helpful 
ness,"  she  sighed,  "all  those  things  are  the 
deep  happinesses  of  lifetimes.  So  you 
mustn't  think  that  when  I  speak  of  this 
breeze  and  these  stars  and  the  almost  ghost- 
liness  of  this  scene,  that  I  mean  merely  the 
material  fact  of  a  steam  yacht,  well  equipped 
and  spacious.  No,  I  have  a  sense  rather  of 
etherealization,  of  dematerialization,  as  my 
spirit  seems  to  move,  for  the  time,  un 
weighted,  free  and  disembodied,  over  the  face 
of  the  waters." 

She  paused  and  sighed  again.  The  faint 
prophecy  of  coming  tears  proclaimed  itself 
from  her  great  eyes.  Since  Paul  had  flirted 
with  her  at  the  Yale  Promenade  half  a  dozen 
years  before,  she  had  changed.  Then  she 
was  a  light-hearted,  pretty,  gay  and  attract 
ive  young  woman.  Now  a  little  older,  the 
slightest  bit  thinner,  her  lips  more  redly  car- 
mined,  tiny  lines  appearing  about  her  eyes, 
she  was  to  him  more  charming  because  o£ 


134 


Tarrying  in   the   Capuan 

her  greater  seriousness,  because  of  her  sad 
ness. 

They  talked  to  each  other  almost  steadily 
through  dinner,  which  was  served  on  deck. 
They  dealt  in  abstractions,  in  generalities  as 
to  love,  life,  duty,  religion.  When  they 
touched  on  religion  he  was  skeptical,  she  be 
lieving.  This  difference  seemed  only  to  make 
them  more  in  sympathy,  for  he  was  drawn 
by  the  sweet  femininity  and  trusting  faith 
of  her  outlook. 

Bather  early  they  reached  the  worn 
enigma:  If  a  married  person  finds  himself 
or  herself  desperately  and  deeply  m  love 
with  some  one  other  than  wife  or  husband, 
what  should  that  married  person  do? 

They  agreed  at  once,  "He  or  she  should 
try  to  forget."  Then  they  modified  the 
original  problem,  "Suppose  he  or  she  has 
tried  to  forget  as  hard  as  possible  and  with 
out  success,  what  then!" 

To  which  Paul  shrugged  his  shoulders,  say 
ing,  "Well,  after  all,  we  have  but  one  life  to 
live." 

Muriel  made  no  answer,  and  Paul  turned 
an  emboldened  gaze  to  her. 

There  was  a  silent  lull.  Lassie  Ellis'  deep 
135 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

voice  was  heard,  "Yes,  she  worked  five  fur 
longs  in  one,  two  and  a  half  yesterday,  just 
breezing,  just  breezing,  her  mouth  wide  open 
all  the  way." 

Katherine  Dunbar  murmured,  "How  ex 
traordinary,  wasn't  it?" 

Across  the  table  Mrs.  Alaire  was  saying 
to  Jim  Ellis,  "And  after  Dwight  had  brought 
her  home  from  the  opera  at  two  in  the  morn 
ing,  with  her  hair  all  disheveled,  I  shouldn't 
think  Pierre  would  ever  have  had  him  in 
the  house  again;  but  after  a  month  Dwight 
was  there  just  as  much  as  ever,  and  he  and 
Pierre  are  perfectly  good  friends.  Of  course 
they  didn't  suppose  Pierre  would  have  been 
there  when  they  got  home,  but  I  do  think  the 
way  those  two  are  carrying  on  is  pretty  fla 
grant.  I  am  very  fond  of  Patricia,  too;  I 
went  to  school  with  her." 

At  the  other  end  of  the  table  Carl  was 
talking  of  bulldogs:  "A  son  of  King  Lud's 
Prince  out  of  Brassbound  Lassie  by  Duke 
Eabagas,  that  won  everything  at  Crystal 
Palace  both  in  '88  and  '89.  Oh,  he's  bred 
from  the  purple.  He'll  win  in  the  Garden 
this  fall  with  an  even  break.  He  cost  the 
Governor  $4,000  to  import,  you  know. ' ' 
130 


Tarrying  in  the  Capuan 

As  these  snatches  of  talk  reached  them, 
Muriel  and  Paul  looked  deep  into  each  other's 
eyes.  "They  don't  understand,  do  they?" 
she  whispered. 

The  banality  of  the  others  struck  him  in 
that  moment.  "No,"  he  answered,  gravely; 
* '  they  don 't.  But  may  I  ask  you  one  thing  ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"You're  sure  you  won't  mind?" 

"I  won't  mind." 

"Does  he  understand?" 

She  turned  her  head  away  from  him,  look 
ing  silently  across  the  dark  waters.  For  a 
long  time  she  gazed.  Then  her  lower  lip 
trembled  ever  so  slightly ;  she  shook  her  head 
in  gentle  negative  sign.  Paul's  heart  leapt 
within  him. 

After  dinner,  bridge  was  started  in  the 
cabin.  But  Paul  and  Muriel  found  it  pleas- 
anter  to  stroll  to  the  bow,  bending  over  the 
rail  side  by  side,  their  elbows  barely  touching 
as  they  watched  the  knife-like  cutwater  of 
the  Capuan  sever  the  gentle  waves.  Cap 
tain  Alaire  and  Anita  Wildmerding  placed 
steamer  chairs  in  the  shadows  on  the  lee  side. 

When  the  first  rubber  was  over,  Lassie, 
noticing  the  absence  of  the  four,  leaned  over 
137 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

to  Katherine  Dunbar  and  whispered,  "The 
Devereux  girls  are  up  to  their  old  tricks.  Did 
you  notice  the  drive  Muriel  was  making  at 
Paul  at  dinner,  and  now  she's  up  on  deck 
looking  at  the  moon  with  him.  She  always 
did  like  good-lookers.  I'll  bet  he'll  be  her 
new  one." 

"Yes,  and  Carl's  uneasy  because  Anita's 
up  on  deck  with  her  old  one.  He'd  like  it 
better  if  she  would  only  follow  sister's  ex 
ample  and  take  a  new  one  every  little  while. ' ' 

The  girl  smiled  meaningfully,  then  gath 
ered  in  her  cards  expertly,  sorted  the  suits 
dexterously  in  her  hand,  and  play  resumed 
itself. 


138 


CHAPTEE  XV 


SUFFER,  LITTLE  CHILDREN" 

"Do  you  know  we're  flat  broke,  Kate?" 
said  Billy  Dunbar  to  his  sister  as  they  walked 
the  deck  together  next  morning.  "We're  not 
getting  twenty  thousand  a  year  between  us, 
and  we  spent  thirty  thousand  last  year.  I 
don't  see  a  possible  place  to  cut  down.  If 
you  can't  manage  anything  with  Lassie,  for 
heaven's  sake  look  somewhere  else.  You  and 
he  have  been  playing  around  together  for 
five  years  now,  and  nothing  comes  of  it. ' ' 

"Three,"  corrected  the  girl.  "His  trip 
around  the  world  took  two." 

"Well,  you  don't  seem  to  be  accomplishing 
much. ' ' 

"He  likes  me  as  well  as  any  girl,  I  think." 

"Like,  like,  like — what  if  he  does  like  you? 
The  point  is,  will  he  marry  you?" 

"How  much  did  you  have  to  drink  last 
139 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

night,  dear?"  she  queried,  softly.  "You've 
been  overdoing  it  even  more  than  usual 
lately,  it  seems  to  me." 

*  *  Oh,  quit  nagging,  Kate.  Whenever  I  give 
you  a  little  good  advice,  you  don't  take  it  in 
good  part.  Tell  me,  how  soft  does  Lassie 
ever  get  with  you?" 

"Oh,  he's  been  pretty  soft  two  or  three 
times  late  at  night,  after  gay  parties,  when 
he's  had  a  good  deal  of  champagne." 

Billy  pondered :  i  l  Most  every  night  will  be 
a  late  one  on  this  trip.  And  here  you  are 
thrown  together  steadily.  It's  now  or  never. 
If  you  can't  make  it  this  time,  you're  pretty 
damned  footless." 

Katherine  was  wroth.  "I  like  the  calm 
way  in  which  you  expect  me  to  do  everything 
for  the  family.  You  say  I  shall  marry  this 
man,  for  whom  I  haven't  a  spark  of  sympa 
thy — he  is  wrapped  up  in  racehorses  and 
shooting,  eating  and  drinking — and  you  swear 
at  me  because  I  don't  marry  him  so  that  I 
can  pay  some  more  of  your  debts.  I  am 
willing  to  marry  him,  if  he  asks  me— 

"Willing  to!"  ejaculated  Billy,  impa 
tiently.  "Good  Lord,  that's  a  good  one — 
'Willing  to.'  What  girl  in  town  isn't  willing 
140 


Suffer,  Little   Children 

to  marry  Lassie  Ellis.  You'll  have  to  get 
together  better  than  that  if  you  expect  to 
land  him." 

"I  can't  kidnap  him,  you  know.  But  if 
he  asks  me  this  trip  I'll  take  him.  I'll  give 
him  every  proper  encouragement,  too.  But 
this  is  the  last  time.  If  nothing  happens  be 
fore  we  leave  the  boat,  I'll  lead  my  own  life 
hereafter  and  see  the  men  and  women  I 
like." 

* '  Meaning  Darlington,  I  suppose, ' '  sneered 
her  brother.  "A  middle-aged  artist,  a  wid 
ower  with  two  children  and  hardly  a  penny. 
Well,  you  will  be  making  a  fool  of  yourself. ' ' 

"I  don't  know,"  the  girl  flashed  back;  "if 
that  would  be  making  more  of  a  fool  of  my 
self  than  to  marry  a  man  I  don't  like,  in 
order  to  pay  for  the  alcohol  you're  killing 
yourself  with,  and  your  mistress'  dresses." 
Billy  winced  visibly.  The  girl  went  on :  *  *  Oh, 
I  know  more  about  you  than  you  think,  and 
you've  got  to  stop  your  bullying." 

"I'm  sorry.  But,  Kathie" — he  put  his 
hand  on  her  arm  and  pleaded — "we've  sim 
ply  got  to  have  the  money.  I  have  been  bor 
rowing.  If  he  gets  soft  again,  won't  you 
please,  please  try  to  make  it  happen?" 
141 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

* '  Yes,  I  said  I  would  keep  trying  until  this 
trip  is  over;  but  it's  the  last  time."  She 
•walked  to  the  railing  and  leaning  over,  spat 
into  the  blue  water.  *  *  Faugh ! ' '  she  ex 
claimed;  " Billy,  that's  what  I  think  of  it  all 
— and  of  you." 

Katherine  kept  her  promise.  The  yacht 
touched  at  Sterling-by-the-Sea,  where  Sai- 
tonstall,  Paul's  partner,  had  arranged  a  din 
ner  dance  for  the  Capuan's  guests. 

In  the  afternoon  a  Watteau  fete  was  given 
on  the  lawn  of  Aspinwall  Cromwell  Monk, 
of  Boston,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Anti-Vivi 
section  Society,  representing  a  cause  in  which 
Mrs.  Monk,  a  gentle  woman,  and  the  owner 
of  prize  winning  Airedales,  was  almost  de 
voutly  interested. 

Few  there  were  among  the  summer  resi 
dents  of  the  North  Shore  more  exclusive  than 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Monk.  Artists  and  musicians 
were  sometimes  admitted  to  their  circle  to 
be  patronized  for  a  brief  period,  but,  except 
ing  these  fugitive  concessions  to  genius,  the 
Monk  portals  were  closed  to  all  but  the  Brah 
mins  of  Boston  or  Boston's  suburbs,  and  to 
a  very  few  outlanders  besides,  such  as  the 
Dunbars,  but  not  such  as  the  Ellises. 
142 


Suffer,  Little  Children 

For  the  Boston  Brahmins  had  flung  out 
their  banners,  as  yet  with  success,  though 
from  year  to  year  with  a  lessening  defiance, 
against  the  ever  reinvigorated,  never  de 
spairing  assaults  upon  their  close  positions 
of  New  York's  new  rich,  who  were  so  very 
new,  and  so  very,  very  rich. 

For  Brahmin  Boston's  instinct  warned 
that  once  these  new  people  were  welcomed 
as  equals,  quickly  they  must  be  owned  as  su 
periors — they  were  so  very,  very  rich. 

It  was  the  dreadful  younger  generation 
knocking,  knocking  patiently  and  so  persist 
ently  at  the  door.  It  was  the  dreadful 
younger  generation  which  soon  would  enter 
and  dispossess.  Therefore  let  the  opening 
be  postponed  until  the  last  minute  allowed. 
When  that  minute  expired,  what  could  half 
a  score  of  colonial  ancestors  who  had  been 
buried  in  the  seventeen  hundreds  avail 
against  forty  millions  of  fertile  dollars  alive 
in  bonds  and  tenements?  So  keep  the  door 
closed,  tight  closed,  until  the  knocking  threat 
ens  to  become  a  battering,  until  at  least 
tomorrow. 

But  the  Watteau  fete  was  for  anti-vivisec 
tion,  and,  after  long  meditation,  Mrs.  Aspin- 
143 


A  Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

wall  Cromwell  Monk  drank  her  sacrificial  cup, 
declaring  to  her  friends  that  it  was  her  duty 
to  dogdom  to  open  her  door  a  little  way,  and 
for  but  a  little  while,  to  the  new  people. 

And  so  did  many  an  eye  along  the  north 
shore  of  Massachusetts  brighten  on  the  morn 
ing  when  for  the  first  time  the  long  hoped  for, 
long  denied  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Aspinwall  Crom 
well  Monk  request  the  pleasure  of  your  com 
pany"  dropped  from  the  cream  colored  invi 
tation  envelope  upon  the  happy  breakfast 
table. 

The  stage  of  the  Watteau  fete  was  the 
green  velvet  slope  of  the  lawn,  separated 
from  the  audience  by  an  arrangement  of 
shrubbery  and  stucco  work;  the  wings  were 
trees  and  bushes. 

Katherine  Dunbar  and  Lassie  Ellis  found 
seats  side  by  side.  As  they  passed  Mrs. 
Monk,  busy  with  cares  of  superintendence, 
Katherine  greeted  her.  The  Boston  lady  re 
garded  her  doubtfully. 

"How  do  you  do,  I  am  so  glad  you  could 
come,"  was  her  uncertain  greeting. 

The  girl  laughed  pleasantly.  "You  don't 
remember  me,  I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Monk." 

"Keally,  I  am  sorry,  but  I  don't." 
144 


Suffer,  Little   Children 

"I  am  Katherine  Dunbar." 

"Little  Kitty  Dunbar!  My  child,  I  am. 
truly  glad  to  see  you.  Of  course  I  didn't  re 
member  you.  You  were  a  school  girl  the  last 
time  I  saw  you,  and  now  you  are  grown  up. 
My  dear,  I  must  see  you  after  all  these  people 
can  be  got  rid  of — "  she  waved  her  hand 
disdainfully  at  her  guests  who  had  come  to 
pay.  "I  really  want  to  talk  to  you.  I  knew 
your  grandfather  —  a  gentleman  of  the  old 
school.  Ah,"  she  sighed,  "in  these  days  of 
mushroom  fortunes  and  parvenus  we  see  few 
such  men."  Then  she  hurried  off,  before 
Lassie  had  been  introduced  to  her. 

"Funny  old  bird,  with  her  smoothed  out 
grey  hair  and  lorgnettes.  She  has  the  Hah- 
vahd  accent  all  right.  Seems  to  think  a  lot 
of  herself,  don't  she?"  commented  Lassie  a 
trifle  sulkily. 

"Oh,"  explained  Katherine,  "Bostonians 
have  quite  a  different  standard  from  ours." 

The  opening  scene  of  the  fete  was  laid  in 
ancient  Arcady.  A  stalwart  young  man  in 
white  fleshings,  with  a  leopard  skin  fastened 
about  his  shoulders,  entered  from  the  left, 
leading  three  lambs,  their  tails  wound  with 
ribbons.  The  procession  passed  to  a  shady 
145 


A   Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

spot  where  a  bundle  of  newly  cut  grass  and 
wild  flowers  had  been  prepared.  Here  the 
young  man  threw  himself  down  and  began 
to  pipe  on  the  double  reed  flute  of  a  faun. 

A  girl  in  flowing  white  peeped  around  a 
tree-trunk  at  him.  The  shepherd,  espying  the 
wood-nymph,  pursued  her.  A  little  boy  of 
six,  representing  the  god  Eros,  shot  blunt 
arrows  after  them  from  his  Indian  bow. 

Lassie  guffawed.  "Will  you  please  look  at 
Dexter  Hollister,  dressed  in  tights,  chasing 
that  girl  in  and  out  of  the  bushes.  Why,  I've 
seen  that  fellow  play  the  neatest  first  base 
Harvard  ever  had ;  and  now  watch  him  mak 
ing  a  four-ply  monkey  of  himself."  And  he 
roared  with  laughter. 

There  were  games  of  battledore-and- 
shuttlecock  between  court  ladies  and  court 
gallants,  who  were  brought  to  the  turf  stage- 
center  in  sedan  chairs;  then  an  eighteenth 
century  minuet;  there  were  Gypsies,  trouba 
dours,  Pierrots  and  Pierrettes.  Finally  at 
the  end  Mr.  Monk,  wearing  short  buff 
breeches  and  a  blue  coat,  read  one  of  Chau 
cer's  poems,  in  Chaucer's  accent. 

If  Mr.  Monk  had  had  to  know  enough  about 
the  English  language  to  earn  his  living  by 
146 


Suffer,  Little   Children 

his  learning,  he  might  have  been  a  scholar. 
But,  unforced  by  necessity,  he  had  remained 
a  dabbler  and  a  patron,  who  flushed  under  the 
praise  of  a  young  Harvard  instructor  for 
his  "truly  excellent  reading  and  interpreta 
tion  of  olde  Geoffrey." 

When  Katherine,  who  likewise  had  devoted 
many  odd  moments  to  such  word-dabbling  and 
who  knew  the  terminology  of  the  sect,  mur 
mured  to  her  host.  *  *  So  truly  done,  so  brave 
ly,  ' '  he  put  his  two  soft  hands  over  hers  and 
said,  "Thank  you,  dear  Katherine,  for  your 
quick  appreciation  of  a  really  honest  effort. ' ' 

And  in  his  mills  in  South  Carolina  on  that 
same  scorching  June  day,  in  the  mills  which 
he  entered  not  over  once  or  twice  a  year,  two 
hundred  children  were  burning  out  their  little 
lives  in  order  that  his  palms  might  be  softly 
white,  and  that  he  might  play  with  Chaucer. 

TVhen  she  left  Monk,  Katherine 's  trained 
eye  sought  Lassie,  who  had  strayed  off  to 
sign  his  name  with  three  figures  after  it  in 
a  book  which  stood  open  on  a  table  in  a  tent 
decorated  with  photographs  and  pen  sketches 
of  dogs  in  torture. 

Deftly  she  reannexed  him,  stopping  from 
time  to  time  to  greet  acquaintances. 
147 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"Why,  Lassie,"  she  said,  "there's  Sally 
Pym,  my  roommate  at  school."  Now  the 
Pyms  were  not  only  Mayflower  families,  but 
the  very  first  of  the  Mayflower  families,  the 
priests  of  the  priests. 

"Hello,  hello,  Sally,"  exclaimed  Katherine 
as  a  pretty  young  girl  all  in  white  ap 
proached,  "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  again." 

"Well,  Kitty,  this  is  a  delight.  How  do 
you  happen  to  be  in  this  simple  little  place?" 

"Oh,  just  off  the  yacht,"  laughed  the  New 
York  girl,  jigging  a  couple  of  hornpipe  steps. 

"Not  that  immense  steamer  in  the  har 
bor?" 

"Yes,  the  Capuan.  Miss  Pym — Mr.  Ellis. 
Mr.  Ellis  is  with  us  on  the  Capuan,  Sally." 

Miss  Pym  had  heard  stories  of  the  immense 
and  continued  display  which  the  Ellises  made 
in  New  York  and  Newport.  She  bowed  coolly 
to  Lassie,  then  turned  again  to  Katherine, 
leaving  him  out  of  the  conversation.  He  was 
annoyed.  There  were  now  none  in  New  York 
— there  had  been  none  for  ten  or  twelve  years, 
almost  as  far  back  as  he  could  appreciate 
such  things — who  bowed  coolly  to  the  Ellises. 

Katherine  suddenly  interrupted: 

"Oh.  there's  Mrs.  Hampden;  I  must  go 
148 


Suffer,  Little   Children 

see  her.  She  used  to  visit  us  when  I  was  a 
little  girl.  Good-bye,  Sally.  See  you  at  the 
Saltonstall's  tonight?" 

Lassie  removed  his  hat  silently  and  as  they 
made  their  way  across  the  crowded  lawn, 
muttered  to  Katherine:  "That  Miss  Pyin 
will  do — just  take  it  from  her." 

Katherine  smiled.  The  game  was  moving. 
* '  Oh, ' '  she  exclaimed  gently,  ' '  they  have  dif 
ferent — I  mean  funny — ways  of  looking  at 
things  in  Boston.  They  insist  on  old  family 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  That 
is,  the  older  people  do.  The  younger  ones 
are  more  liberal — much  the  same  as  in  New 
York.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Hampden?  I 
shall  venture  to  say  that  you  do  not  remem 
ber  me." 

1  i  Indeed  I  might  not  have,  little  Kitty  Dun- 
bar,  if  Mary  Monk  had  not  told  me  you  were 
here.  But  now  I  recognize  you  perfectly. 
How  well  you  look.  And  how  is  Billy?  Is 
he  here?  Really?  Ah,  Kitty,  I  often  think 
of  your  poor  grandfather.  One  of  the  most 
distinguished  men  I  have  ever  known.  A 
gentleman  by  birth,  breeding  and  education. 
Ah,  yes,  the  times  have  changed. ' ' 


149 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

44 Mrs.  Hampden,"  said  Katherine,  "allow 
me  to  present  Mr.  Ellis." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Ellis?"  Mrs.  Hamp 
den  bowed.  Then  after  a  few  more  words 
with  Katherine,  and  a  slight  nod  to  Lassie, 
she  departed. 

Sitting  beside  Katherine  in  the  stern  of 
the  launch  which  was  carrying  them  out  to 
the  Capuan,  that  they  might  dress  for  din 
ner,  Lassie  was  visibly  in  no  pleasant  frame 
of  mind. 

"These  New  Englanders  are  a  lot  of  fos 
sils,  anyway,"  he  commented. 

"Yes,  they're  more  old  fashioned  than 
anybody — except  of  course  some  of  the  Phila 
delphia  and  Baltimoreans  who  are  actually 
worse.  Heigh-ho,  what  does  it  matter?"  She 
laid  her  gloved  fingers  momentarily  on  his 
arm.  He  felt  that  she  was  sorry  for  his  un 
comfortable  experience,  and  from  his  heart  he 
thanked  her  for  her  tacit  sympathy  and  un 
derstanding. 

During  his  attentions  to  her  in  New  York, 
neither  of  them  could  help  feeling  that  he 
had  everything  to  give  which  counted, 
whereas,  she  had  nothing  to  offer  but  her 
self.  Here,  among  the  Bostonians,  she  had 
150 


Suffer,  Little  Children 

shown  him  that  she  possessed  advantages  of 
position  which  he  lacked;  and  he  valued  her 
the  more  highly  for  the  demonstration. 


151 


THE  OLDEST  PROFESSION" 

Lassie  took  a  cocktail  on  the  boat  before 
starting  shoreward  to  the  Saltonstall's;  he 
took  another  while  waiting  for  the  announce 
ment  of  dinner,  and  helped  his  way  through 
the  half  dozen  courses  with  as  many  glasses 
of  champagne.  Without  the  stimulant,  and 
with  so  much  food,  he  would  have  been  dull 
and  uncomfortable.  But  the  combination  was 
effectual  in  lending  him  a  feeling  of  well- 
being.  He  was  satisfied  with  his  looks,  with 
his  talk,  with  Katherine  who  sat  beside  him 
and  who  seemed  to  understand  him. 

The  light  of  the  huntress  shone  in  her  eyes. 
Never  had  he  stalked  a  wild  animal  with  more 
predaceous  joy  than  she  now  stalked  him. 
She  had  promised  herself  and  Billy  that  there 
should  be  but  one  more  Lassie-hunt;  and 
she  was  determined  to  keep  that  promise. 
152 


The   Oldest    Profession 

But  what  a  hunting  this  last  Lassie-hunt 
should  be.  There  stood  the  huge  quarry,  his 
confidence  lulled,  fearing  no  foe,  glorying  in 
his  security,  almost  within  reach.  A  few 
more  cautious  movements,  a  sudden  surprise 
and  the  head  of  the  herd,  the  biggest  stag  of 
them  all,  with  countless  golden  tines  upon  his 
gleaming  antlers,  was  hers,  under  the  very 
eyes  of  less  skillful  Dianas  who  had  spent 
many  weary  years  in  the  same  quest. 

There  had  been  many  moments  in  her  life, 
when  she  sickened  of  the  Lassie-hunt.  Some 
times  when,  in  Darlington's  dim  studio,  the 
harp's  sad  music  drifted  her  out  upon  the 
illimitable,  hazy,  twilight,  spirit  sea;  some 
times  when  she  strolled  quietly  alone  in  her 
little  rose  garden  on  the  Hudson,  her  long 
skirts  slowly  trailing  behind  her;  sometimes 
when  her  pale  emotions  livened  at  the  vision 
of  deep  lustred  pottery,  she  felt  the  falsity 
of  it. 

But  tonight  she  was  among  women  whose 
bare  necks  and  slender  fingers  were  laden 
with  jewels ;  eating  from  gold  enameled  por 
celain,  with  heavy,  carven,  silver  tools; 
dreamily  inhaling  the  faint  scent  of  orchids, 
while  the  zither's  lark-like  notes  floated  from 

153 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

their  hidden  birth-place  among  the  palms  and 
dwarf  banana-trees  of  the  conservatory.  To 
night  she  rioted  in  royal  purple,  and  wanted 
it  forever.  She  bade  silence  to  the  kindly 
voice  which  admonished  her  that  a  gentler 
color  was  her  truer  destiny. 

The  men  went  to  Saltonstall's  study,  when 
the  eating  was  over,  in  order  that  they  might 
continue  the  drinking  for  a  brief  period,  and 
smoke.  Lassie  took  two  small  glasses  of 
cognac,  a  Scotch  whiskey  and  soda,  a  cigar 
ette  and  a  cigar.  When  he  had  knocked  the 
last  ash  from  the  black  Havana,  drained  the 
last  drop  from  the  long  highball  glass,  he 
arose,  shook  his  trousers  down  his  heavy  legs 
and  yawned. 

.  "Well,  there's  the  music.  Suppose  it's 
time  to  dance.  Lord,  but  it's  hot  tonight. 
Hope  my  collar  don't  wilt  the  first  round,  but 
it  feels  as  if  it  would." 

It  did.  And  when  he  brought  Katherine 
back  to  her  seat,  he  asked,  "Mayn't  I  get  you 
a  little  punch?  It's  fearfully  hot  in  here." 

"No,  thanks,"  she  answered,  fanning  her 
self.    "But  do  you  go  and  get  yourself  some. 
Then  you  may  take  me  out  on  the  lawn  for  a 
few  minutes,  where  there  is  a  nice  breeze,  and 
154 


The  Oldest   Profession 

your  duty  to  me  for  the  evening  is  over.  I'll 
wait  for  you  here."  She  nodded  smilingly, 
and  he  made  his  way  to  the  punch  bowl,  say 
ing,  "Back  directly." 

Billy  dropped  into  the  vacant  seat.  "Hav 
ing  a  nice  time?" 

"Yes." 

' '  How  is  everything ! ' ' 

"Well  enough."  She  spoke  curtly.  Then 
an  idea  struck  her.  "Billy,  we're  going  out 
on  the  lawn  for  a  while.  We  '11  be  in  the  sum- 
merhouse.  Come  out  in  twenty  minutes  or 
half  an  hour  and  look  for  us.  But  come 
quietly,  probably  from  the  side  instead  of  the 
front.  It  would  be  better  not  to  walk  on  the 
gravel  path;  stay  on  the  grass.  Do  you  un 
derstand  ? ' '  She  looked  at  him  from  narrowed 
eyelids. 

Billy  pondered  a  moment.  "I'm  blessed 
if  I  do."  Then  quickly  he  laughed.  "What 
a  clever  little  girl  it  is.  Depend  on  me;  I'll 
come,  and  carefully.  Here  he  is,  coming 
back.  Good  luck,  Kathie;  you're  a  trump. 
Hello,  Lassie.  I've  been  flirting  with  my 
sister;  now  I  must  be  off.  S'long." 

Ellis  and  the  girl  took  seats  in  the  little 
vine-clad  summer  house,  facing  the  sea. 

155 


A   Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

"A  fine  party,  so  far.  You've  looked  aw 
fully  well  tonight, ' '  he  began. 

She  remained  quite  silent. 

"Isn't  it  a  beautiful  night?  Look  at  the 
moon  on  the  water, ' '  he  said. 

"A  perfect  night,"  she  answered  simply. 
* '  The  most  perfect  night  I  have  ever  known. ' ' 

His  pulse  began  to  throb.  What  did  she 
mean  by  that?  How  spotless  and  how  pure 
she  seemed  sitting  there,  all  in  virginal  white ; 
how  unapproachable,  how  different  from 
other  women  he  had  known — how  desirable. 
His  blood  began  to  course. 

"I  feel  it,  too,"  he  answered  hoarsely. 

As  she  raised  her  bare  arms  to  adjust  a 
comb  which  had  come  loose  in  her  hair,  her 
elbow  touched  his  shoulder. 

He  took  a  long  breath.  "Do  you  know," 
said  he,  "the  thing  I  like  about  you  is  that 
you  seem  to  understand  me  ?  When  I  am  in 
terested  in  something,  I  can  talk  to  you  about 
it  better  than  to  any  other  girl  I  know." 

"Indeed  I  am  happy  if  that  is  so,  Lassie," 
she  answered  softly,  "happier  perhaps  than 
you  can  imagine.  But  I  am  always  really  in 
terested  in  what  you  tell  me,  and  that  is  why 
I  seem  to  understand." 
156 


The   Oldest   Profession 

Their  eyes  met.  Hers  were  glowing.  A 
little  more  time,  a  little  luck  and  the  game 
was  won. 

He  placed  his  hand  over  hers.  She  did 
not  move.  He  put  his  arm  about  her  waist 
and  drew  her  to  him. 

"Oh,  Lassie,"  she  said,  "Do  you  really 
care,  for  if  you  don't,  I—  '  sob.  Trembling, 
she  yielded  him  her  lips. 

The  fever  was  in  his  veins.  * '  Care,  Kathie  ? 
I  love  you.  Kiss  me  again.  Don't  you  know 
that  I  care!"  The  storm  of  passion  raged 
within  him.  The  moonlight  on  the  sea,  the 
pale  girl  in  his  arms,  the  champagne  in  his 
blood  drove  him  on.  He  tightened  his  grasp 
of  her  and  pressed  his  burning  lips  to  her 
hair,  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  her  bare  neck. 

A  voice  interrupted,  "I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  did  not  know  anybody  was  here. ' '  A  man 's 
figure  stood  but  a  few  feet  from  them,  half 
turned  as  if  to  retreat  again.  He  must  have 
seen  them  while  they  had  been  in  each  other's 
arms. 

As  the  girl,  startled  by  the  voice,  looked  up, 
she  was  recognized. 

"Katherine,"  said  her  brother  very  stern 
and  hard.  "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

157 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

The  girl  arose,  miserable.  "Why  I — why 
we — why  I — , ' '  she  faltered  wretchedly. 

Lassie  stepped  forward  firmly.  "You 
have  found  out  our  secret  a  little  ahead  of 
time.  Your  sister  is  going  to  marry  me." 

He  turned  to  the  girl.  "Do  you  mind, 
dear,  if  other  people  know,  now  that  Billy 
has  found  us  out?" 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  she  with  beating 
heart.  The  golden  antlers  were  hers. 

Presently  they  returned  to  the  brilliant 
light  of  the  dance  and  Billy  hurried  to  Muriel 
Evers  with  the  news,  to  insure  its  rapid 
spread.  Then  he  made  his  eager  way  to  the 
punch  bowl.  After  a  time,  quite  incoherent 
with  joy,  he  dropped  into  a  vacant  seat,  be 
side  Katherine. 

"Oh,  you  dear,  sweet  liP  sister,"  he  bab 
bled.  "I  wanta'  take  you  out  on  the  porch 
and  give  you  a  brotherly  kiss.  You're  a 
credit  to  the  family." 

"No,  thanks,"  she  answered  incisively,  "I 
have  already  had  enough  alcoholic  kisses  for 
one  evening." 

When  the  darkness  of  that  night  finally 
broke,  sleepless  she  raised  her  weaiy  head 
upon  her  hand,  so  that  her  aching  eyes  could 
158 


The  Oldest   Profession 

see,  through  the  round  porthole  of  her  cabin 
the  reddening  horizon. 

* '  Anyway, ' '  she  sighed, ' '  Lassie  played  fair 
when  his  time  came;  and  I  shall  be  fair 
enough  by  him  to  stay  bought — always." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  with  the  mourn- 
fullest  smile,  * '  So,  after  all,  I  am  to  be  richer 
than  Anita  Wildmerding." 


159 


CHAPTER  XVH 


A  MITIGATION  OF  BOREDOM 

"What  a  wonderful  time  it  has  been," 
whispered  Muriel.  "And  tomorrow  we  take 
up  our  separate  paths  again  through  the 
cruel,  gossiping,  brutal  world ;  tomorrow  be 
gins  again  the  same  deadly  round  of  lunch 
eons,  teas,  drives,  dinners ;  tomorrow  we  step 
out  of  this  garden  of  cool  shade  and  perfume 
into  the  full  glare  of  the  noonday  sun,  shoul 
der  our  packs  and  trudge  along  the  dusty 
highway.  Ah,  Paul,  but  if  tonight  were  our 
last  night  upon  earth,  and  we  were  to  face 
Almighty  God  with  our  sins  hanging  heavy 
upon  us  tomorrow,  I  would  not  regret  having 
known  you — and  having  loved  you.  Maybe 
we  shall  not  meet  again ;  maybe  this  good-bye 
is  good-bye  forever;  maybe  it  is  best  that  it 
should  be  so — best  for  each  of  us.  But  the 
memory  of  these  days  with  you  upon  the 
160 


A  Mitigation  of  Boredom 

Capuan  will  leave  me  never.  We  make  mis 
takes;  we  are  poor,  weak,  erring,  sinning 
mortals.  But  when  into  the  midst  of  my  un- 
happiness  and  wretchedness,  and  you  alone 
know  how  unhappy  and  wretched  I  have  been, 
the  vision  of  perfect  Love  entered  and  beck 
oned  to  me,  I  was  not  strong  and  wise  and 
brave  enough  to  run  away.  I  followed,  and 
I  am  glad  I  followed.  I  could  not  help  fol 
lowing  because  I  was  only  a  woman,  and  you 
were  a  man,  such  a  man,  the  man.  Ah,  may 
God  forgive  us." 

The  woman  was  leaning  her  elbows  upon 
the  deck-rail,  looking  over  the  phosphores 
cent,  dark  waters,  listening  to  the  throb  of 
engines,  and  the  gentle  wash-sh,  wash-sh  of 
the  waters  slipping  by  the  white  flanks  of 
the  yacht. 

The  man  could  see  with  what  an  effort  she 
was  fighting  back  her  tears.  He  placed  his 
hand  over  hers.  "How  cold  you  are,  dear," 
he  whispered.  "Look";  he  pointed  at  the 
most  brilliant  point  of  light  which,  within 
the  arc  of  their  vision,  pierced  the  purple 
blackness  of  the  sky.  "That  is  Venus,  hang 
ing  straight  before  us.  Trust  her." 

"Was  she  ever  to  be  trusted,  Man?" 
161 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

laughed  the  woman  lightly.  "Perhaps  after 
all  we  were  taking  ourselves  a  bit  too  seri 
ously." 

"Kiss  me,  dear,"  he  said. 

The  next  night,  Paul  and  Carl  sat  together 
in  the  smoking  room  of  the  Wildmerding 
Newport  villa.  The  dinner  guests  had  de 
parted.  A  footman,  liveried  in  green  and 
gold,  entered  carrying  a  silver  tray,  laden 
with  bottled  soda,  long  tumblers,  cracked  ice 
and  a  carafe  of  Scotch  whiskey. 

"Not  for  me,"  Paul  shook  his  head  em 
phatically. 

Wildmerding  mixed  the  whiskey  and  spark 
ling  water,  and  put  it  to  his  lips.  "I'm  going 
to  cut  it  out  tomorrow,  too,"  said  he,  "but 
I  feel  nervous  tonight." 

"I  feel  nervous,  too,"  answered  his  friend. 
"I've  been  sleeping  badly  the  last  few  nights 
and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  sleep  worse  tonight. 

"Try  sulphonal." 

"No,  I'm  willing  to  pay  and  have  it  over 
with.  The  two  weeks  aboard  I  can  only  see 
now  through  a  yellow  haze  of  highballs  and 
fizz.  And  at  that  I  think  I  drank  less  than 
any  man  in  the  crowd,  except  possibly  you. ' ' 

"Sulphonal  will  make  you  sleep ;  and  you'll 
162 


A  Mitigation  of  Boredom 

be  jumpy  tomorrow  if  you  toss  about  all 
night,"  insisted  Carl. 

"I'm  leary  of  drugs,  to  tell  the  truth.  I 
think  it  'a  better  to  stand  the  gaff  tonight  and 
tomorrow.  Then,  the  day  after,  I'll  be  about 
all  right  again." 

"Sulphonal  isn't  harmful,  I  tell  you.  It's 
not  a  dope  in  the  sense  you  mean, ' '  said  Carl. 
"Lots  of  people  take  it.  Anita  does,  and 
Muriel  has  for  years,  whenever  she  couldn't 
sleep.  It  never  hurt  them  a  bit.  I'm  just 
as  set  against  drugs  as  you ;  but  more  people 
than  you  would  guess  take  it  and  don't  seem 
to  go  under.  Look  at  Billy  Dunbar.  I  can't 
see  that  he's  a  bit  worse  off.  He  doesn't 
drink  nearly  as  much  as  he  used  to,  and  he 
doesn't  make  an  ass  of  himself  half  as 
often." 

* '  Do  you  mean  to  say  Billy  dopes  ?  I  never 
guessed  it." 

"You're  one  of  the  few  that  hasn't,  then," 
answered  the  young  millionaire.  * '  He 's  been 
using  morphine  for  a  couple  of  years.  But 
his  system  was  so  accustomed  to  all  kinds  of 
nerve  stimulants  that  the  poison  won't  act 
up  to  its  full  power  on  him.  It's  like  trying 
to  burn  wet  wood.  Then  again  Alaire  's  wife 's 

163 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

been  doing  it  for  years,  and  everybody  knows 
it.  She  used  to  be  a  great  girl  with  a  horse, 
hunted  the  stiffest  country  of  Long  Island 
and  Warwickshire,  but  now  she  never  rides. 
She  affects  languor,  dreamy  eyes,  world 
weary  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  nowadays. 
It  takes  two  maids  to  keep  her  tidy,  though. ' ' 

Paul  poured  himself  out  a  whiskey-and- 
soda.  "This  doesn't  seem  so  wicked  now," 
he  laughed.  "But  I  don't  think  I  could  stand 
the  sort  of  racket  we've  been  having  the  past 
two  weeks  very  long.  After  this  night-cap,  I 
chop." 

Little  Wildmerding  rose  to  his  feet  and 
drew  his  slender  short  body  to  its  full  height. 
He  threw  out  his  arm  vehemently.  "I  tell  you 
what  I'm  going  to  do.  I'm  going  home;  and 
I'm  going  to  start  right  now.  I  am  sick  of 
all  this  rotten  boozing  and  dressing  and  lugs. 
I've  stood  it  just  about  as  long  as  I  can  for 
this  time — and  I  need  a  rest.  You're  my 
best  friend,  and  I'll  take  you  home  with  me. 
We'll  start  right  off  on  the  Capuan  and  be 
in  New  York  tomorrow." 

Paul  gaped  with  astonishment.  ' '  What  are 
you  talking  about,  boy?  We've  just  come  off 


164 


A   Mitigation   of  Boredom 

the  boat,  and  you're  home  now  in  your  own 
house  in  Newport." 

Wildmerding  had  been  striding  up  and  down 
the  polished  floor,  muttering  to  himself. 

"HOME,"  he  suddenly  burst  out, 
"HOME,"  do  you  call  this  home?  Do  you 
call  it  home  to  live  in  a  marble  palace  with  a 
woman  who  would  only  bear  you  one  child — 
and  that  one's  dead — for  fear  of  missing  a 
season  and  spoiling  her  figure ;  who  tells  you 
to  your  face  in  her  tantrums  that  she  only 
married  you  for  money;  who  considers 
you  nothing  but  a  combined  pearl  fishery 
and  diamond  mine,  who  spends  her  time 
with — Oh,  I  'm  not  such  a  fool  as  she  and 
everybody  else  think  me.  What  I  know 
about  her  would  surprise  her.  No,  I  have 
been  long  suffering  and  silent,  but  I  have 
a  home,  as  different  from  this  as  heaven 
from  hell,  where  there  is  a  woman  that  un 
derstands  me  and  loves  me.  And  I  have 
friends,  a  few  of  them,  real  friends,  for  they 
don't  know  that  my  father  has  money  and 
they're  unlike  these  friends  and  toadies  and 
servants  and  sycophants  about  here,  who  pre 
tend  to  like  me  for  myself,  but  who  wouldn  't 
give  two  hurrahs  for  me  if  I  were  John  Smith. 

165 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

I  know,  Paul  Potter,  I  know.  Don't  interrupt 
me,  because  I  KNOW,  I  tell  you,"  his  voice 
had  reached  a  scream.  "Of  all  my  friends 
here,  I  think  you  are  the  best.  I  think  you 
like  me  for  myself.  I  THINK  so"— a  look 
of  suspicion  flashed  into  his  eyes,  then  faded 
-"but  God  knows,  I  don't  KNOW  even 
that."  The  slender,  little  fellow  sank  into 
a  heavy  leather  arm-chair  and  began  to  sob 
heavily. 

"Oh,  come,  old  man,  this  will  never  do. 
Let's  go  out  for  a  turn  up  and  down  the  ter 
race."  The  tall  man  laid  a  kindly  hand  on 
the  other's  shoulder. 

"No,"  insisted  Carl,  his  voice  shaking, 
"I'm  going  home.  You  can  come  or  not  as 
you  like."  He  touched  the  electric  bell.  "I 
want  Winston,"  said  he  to  the  green  and 
gold  livery. 

The  valet  knocked  and  entered,  "Yes,  sir?" 

"Winston,  we'll  be  going  back  to  New 
York  tonight  on  the  Capuan.  Let  'em  know 
aboard.  Steam's  up.  I  told  'em  I  half  ex 
pected  to  go  out  again  tonight." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  you  want  to  come  or  not,  Paul?  Do 
just  as  you  want." 

166 


A   Mitigation  of  Boredom 

"I'll  go,  if  you  are  going." 

"  Winston,  Mr.  Potter  will  come  too.  See 
that  his  things  get  back  on  the  boat.  And 
I'll  leave  a  note  on  this  desk  for  Mrs.  Wild- 
merding  to  let  her  know.  See  that  someone 
gives  it  to  her  in  the  morning.  I'll  take  you 
as  far  as  New  York,  and  leave  you  there. 
I'm  going  out  in  the  country  for  a  week  or 
ten  days.  Send  this  telegram  there — night 
message,  so  as  not  to  wake  them." 

"Yes,  sir.  When  shall  you  go  aboard,  sir?" 

"Half  an  hour." 

"Yes,  sir." 

At  2  A.  M.  the  Capuan  was  under  way,  her 
steady  engines  shoving  her  a  good  thirteen 
knots  an  hour  into  the  teeth  of  half  a  gale. 

"I  feel  better  already,"  said  Carl  cheer 
fully.  "The  skipper  says  it  looks  like  nasty 
weather  before  morning.  I  rather  hope  we 
do  have  a  little  blow ;  it  won't  bother  my  sleep 
any.  The  skipper  says  he'll  stay  on  the 
bridge  as  long  as  we  have  the  point  on  our 
lee.  I  am  glad  of  it.  He's  a  very  safe  man 
— strict  teetotal,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
A  good  man;  I  was  lucky  to  get  him.  Well, 
let's  turn  in." 

Before  morning  a  full  gale  was  blowing, 
167 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

but  it  blew  harmlessly  by  the  strong,  graceful 
vessel,  conducted  by  forty-five  sea  experts — 
navigators,  engineers,  quartermasters,  able- 
bodied  seamen,  deckhands,  oilers,  stokers. 
The  forty-five  fought  the  gale  all  through  the 
night,  and  the  next  afternoon  their  labors 
fruited,  for  little  Carl  Wildmerding  was 
landed  safely  on  the  wharf  of  the  New  York 
Yacht  Club. 

"Quite  a  turn-up  we  had  for  the  Sound  last 
night,"  he  commented.  "Hope  you  weren't 
uncomfortable.  But  I've  found  that,  nine 
times  out  of  ten,  it's  pleasanter  to  come  down 
this  way.  We've  an  hour  and  a  half  to  catch 
our  train  to  Wissacon.  Come,  let's  get  a  cab. 
I'll  be  a  busy  man  until  the  train  starts."  • 

He  laughed  and  took  out  a  slip  of  paper 
from  his  pocketbook.  "This  is  what  I  have 
to  get:  Five  magazines,  including  especially 
the  Ladies'  Own;  a  box  of  chocolates,  a  bas 
ket  of  peaches,  a  rubber  doll,  a  pair  of  long, 
very  long,  garden  shears,  a  Smithfield  ham, 
a  pair  of  hammock  rings,  and  six  yards  of 
blue  ribbon  to  match  this." 

In  the  station,  Paul  had  set  his  foot  upon 
the  step  of  the  vestibuled  parlor  car,  when 


168 


A   Mitigation   of  Boredom 

Carl  seized  him  gaily  by  the  arm,  saying, 
"No,  my  son,  day  coach,  just  ahead." 

"It's  about  time  for  me  to  explain,"  he 
continued  when  they  had  found  a  seat  and  he 
had  carefully  lodged  his  bundles  in  the  rack 
above  their  heads.  "You  are  going  out  to 
Wissacon  to  spend  a  week  or  ten  days  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carl  Chester.  I  am  Mr. 
Chester." 

"Oh,"  said  Paul. 

"It  will  be  a  quiet,  peaceful,  early  to  bed 
and  early  to  rise  existence.  Mrs.  Chester  will 
not  permit  a  drop  of  anything  to  drink  in  the 
house." 

"Oh,"  answered  Paul,  surprised. 

"Our  cottage  is  very  small.  It  gets  pretty 
cold  sometimes  in  winter,  when  the  wind  is 
wrong  for  the  furnace.  But  I'm  getting  onto 
that  old  furnace  now, ' '  he  added.  ' '  We  have 
a  vegetable  garden,  a  cow  and  a  maid-of-all- 
work.  Blanche  has  limited  the  budget  to 
twelve  hundred  a  year,  and  we've  never  been 
over  the  limit.  Queer,  too,  considering  she 
knows  all  about  father." 

"Oh,"  interjected  Paul,  amazed. 

Wildmerding  chuckled.  "It  looks  a  little 
as  if  she  cared  for  me,  myself,  doesn't  it?" 

169 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"It  decidedly  does." 

"That's  why  I  call  it  home,  and  not  the 
other  place.  When  I  met  her,  she  was  doing 
the  tough  girl  in  Ten  Beauties  and  One  Beast, 
three  years  ago." 

* '  I  remember  the  show — musical  comedy  at 
the  Casino,  wasn't  it?  I  remember  her,  too, 
clever  and  slangy." 

"That's  Blanche.  She  had  some  real  com 
edy  in  her,  which  might  have  been  brought 
out.  She  was  made  up  ugly  as  sin  on  the 
stage,  and  in  fact  she  isn't  a  beauty  off  it. 
But  she  has  the  honestest  smile  in  the  world. 
I  met  her  at  a  supper  Lassie  and  Jim  gave. 
Each  of  them  had  a  girl  in  the  show.  I  was 
taken  with  her;  she  was  just  as  funny  then 
off  the  stage  as  on  it,  though  she's  sobered 
down  since.  I  was  feeling  pretty  blue  and 
discouraged — nerves  off,  I  presume — so  I  saw 
her  again;  and  pretty  soon  I  bought  her  a 
couple  of  pins  and  a  ring.  Believe  it  or  not, 
but  she  is  my  first  and  only  since  marriage." 

"Of  course,  I  believe  it,  old  man." 

"Well,  things  went  on  for  about  a  month; 

and  after  a  while  we  got  to  really  like  each 

other.    She  wanted  to  quit  the  show  business 

and  go  into  the  country  to  live,  so  I  bought 

170 


A  Mitigation   of  Boredom 

a  little  cottage  in  Wissacon,  and  she  seems 
perfectly  contented  with  it.  I've  been  on  the 
square  with  her,  and  I've  been  a  better  fellow 
for  knowing  her — a  lot  better,"  he  insisted 
earnestly.  "  Here 's  our  station.  Carry  some 
of  these  bundles  for  me  up  to  the  house.  We 
don't  ride  in  Wissacon,  but  walk  like  the 
other  commuters.  I'm  known  in  town  as  a 
traveling  man  for  a  woolen  house.  That  ex 
plains  my  absences.  I  wish  there  were  fewer 
to  explain." 

A  dozen  Wissaconites  had  come  from  the 
city  on  the  same  train  as  Wildmerding  and 
when  they  caught  sight  of  him  in  the  little 
station,  they  greeted  him  warmly.  "How- 
de-do,  Chester,  glad  to  see  you  back";  "Say, 
Chester,  you  must  come  over  to  supper  before 
you  go  on  the  road  again";  "Why,  why, 
here's  old  Carl  Chester:  I  am  glad  to  see  you; 
you've  been  away  over  a  month  this  time"; 
"Your  missus  brought  over  the  best  fig-layer 
cake  I  ever  tasted  to  our  wooden  wedding  cel 
ebration  last  week.  She  was  sort  of  hoping 
you'd  be  here  in  time  for  it." 

The  millionaire  walked  smiling  and  laden 
with  bundles  up  the  board  walk  toward  his 


171 


A    Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

cottage.  "Those  men  were  all  friendly, 
weren't  they,  Paul." 

"Of  course,  why  not  I" 

"AVell,  what  I  like  about  it  is  that  they 
are  friendly  to  Chester,  not  Wildnierding.  I 
know  it's  liking  for  me,  and  nothing  else." 

"Carlie,  you  make  me  unutterably  weary. 
You're  fearfully  morbid.  Take  a  liver  pill." 

"I'm  not  morbid  here,  ever;  but  I  am 
there.  How  can  I  help  it  I " 


172 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  MAKING  OF  A  MIME 

Flowers  grew  in  the  front  yard  before  the 
little  house  in  Wissacon.  A  woman,  wearing 
a  pink  sunbonnet  and  white  dress,  was  bend 
ing  over  an  old  fashioned  garden  of  pansies, 
nasturtiums  and  mignonettes,  plucking  the 
full  blooms,  and  placing  them  in  a  wicker 
basket.  The  brick  wall  leading  from  the 
picket  gate  to  the  front  door  was  bordered 
with  tall  hollyhock  and  larkspur. 

As  the  two  men  paused  by  the  wooden  gate 
before  entering,  Carl  whispered,  "Tell  me, 
did  you  ever  see  a  stone  or  combination  of 
stones — rubies,  emeralds,  sapphires,  pearls, 
diamonds — so  deliriously  beautiful  in  color 
ing  as  this  garden?*' 

"No." 

*  *  Neither  did  I.  Neither  did  anybody  else. 
Yet  I've  spent  over  a  hundred  thousand  dol- 

173 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

lars  on  stones  for  Anita  and  under  a  hundred 
for  this  garden.  Blanche  has  had  more  fun 
out  of  these  flowers  than  Anita  ever  had  from 
her  necklaces,  stomachers,  tiaras,  pendants, 
pins  and  rings.  The  whole  business  seems 
sort  of  funny,  doesn't  it?" 

The  woman  looked  up  from  her  work  in 
the  garden. 

1  'Hello,  "Carl  sang  out. 

She  smiled  and  her  fingers  went  to  her  lips. 
"Sh-sh-sh,"  she  whispered,  pointing  toward 
the  baby  carriage  on  the  porch.  "Why  didn't 
you  let  me  know  you  were  coming  on  this 
train?  I  would  have  walked  down  to  meet 
you.  I  am  getting  some  flowers  for  supper 
tonight." 

"Mrs.  Chester— Mr.  Potter." 

"How  do  you  do?" 

"How  do  you  do?  Wait  a  second.  Let 
me  put  the  baby  inside,  and  then  you  men 
can  sit  on  the  porch  and  smoke  until  the  sun 
goes  down.  She'll  be  awake  soon,  anyway. 
She'd  overslept  as  it  is.  Look;  isn't  she 
strong?  Only  ten  months  old.  Sh-sh-sh;  I'll 
be  back  in  a  minute.  Excuse  me." 

After  their  very  short  and  plain  supper 
was  over,  the  woman  said,  "Go  out  on  the 
174 


The  Making  of  A  Mime 

porch  again."  She  laughed.  "It's  the  best 
room  in  the  house  these  summer  nights,  a 
better  room  than  the  oh-so-grand  people  have 
ever  managed  to  build  for  themselves.  Is  it 
not  so,  Carl-of-mine  f " 

' '  Of  course,  dear,  —  I  know  these  things 
now,  though  I  didn't  once.  You  taught  me." 
He  turned  to  Paul,  smiling,  "Come  old  man, 
let's  go  out  to  our  best  room  and  smoke." 

As  they  paused  in  the  little  library  to  get 
cigars,  Paul  looked  about.  There  were  a  good 
many  books,  bound  variously  and  worn,  as 
if  they  had  been  bought  one  at  a  time  and 
used.  The  furniture  was  chintz  and  wicker. 
The  walls  were  hung  in  green  and  white. 

Carl  pointed  to  the  baby  grand  piano. 
* '  That 's  been  our  one  extravagance, ' '  he  said. 
"I  gave  it  to  her  last  Christmas.  She  plays 
pretty  well ;  has  a  natural  aptitude.  She  car 
ried  the  chorus  of  Ten  Beauties  and  One 
Beast,  before  she  got  the  character  part. ' ' 

In  his  casual  stroll  about  the  room,  Paul's 
eyes  suddenly  lighted  upon  a  large  framed 
photograph,  placed  on  the  bookcase.  "Why, 
who  on  earth 's  this  ? "  he  exclaimed. 

"That's  a  friend  of  Blanche's — an  actress. 
Blanche  swears  by  her,  says  she  will  be  heard 

175  " 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

of  some  day;  of  course  I  hope  so.  But 
Blanche  is  enthusiastic  in  her  friendships." 

"It  looks  exactly  like  a  girl  I  knew  once. 
Exactly,  only  a  little  older. ' '  Paul  was  hold 
ing  the  photograph  to  the  light  that  he  might 
see  it  better.  Presently  he  sighed.  "How 
beautiful  she  is.  Look." 

Carl  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "Yes,  she 
is  handsome,  certainly." 

"Handsome,"  Paul  burst  out  abruptly. 
*  *  Handsome ;  she  is  beautiful,  absolutely,  per 
fectly,  flawlessly  beautiful.  Look."  He 
laughed  consciously.  "Come  on;  let's 
smoke. ' ' 

As  soon  as  Blanche  came  out  upon  the 
porch  Paul  asked  her  about  the  photograph. 
She  smiled.  "Most  everybody  wants  to 
know  about  that  picture,"  said  she.  "Her 
name's  Cynthia  Castleman;  and  she'll  have 
it  on  the  four  sheet  posters  some  day." 

"Cynthia  Castleman,  Cynthia  Castleman. 
Then  I  am  mistaken.  But  she  looks  for  all 
the  world  like  a  girl  I  once  knew." 

"That's  her  stage  name;  her  real  name's 
Sylvia  Castle  and — ' 

"Yes,  that's  she,  that's  she,"  Paul  inter- 


176 


The   Making  of  A   Mime 

rupted  eagerly.  "Tell  me  all  about  her.  I 
want  to  hear.  We  are  old  friends." 

"I  first  met  her  in  a  store  in  Chicago, 
where  we  worked  together  in  the  basement, 
or  rather  cellar,  one  summer.  It  was  hell  in 
that  cellar.  Later  she  got  a  little  part  in  a 
stock  company  that  was  showing  in  the  town. 
Fourteen  shows  a  week,  and  rehearsals.  After 
about  a  month  I  got  in  the  company,  too.  We 
got  ten  a  week.  The  manager  and  leading 
man  was  Henry  Leamington.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  him?  No?  I  guess  he  was  before 
your  time  in  New  York." 

Paul  winced.    *  *  What  about  him  ? ' '  said  he. 

"He's  one  of  those  nice-fellow-pity-he- 
drinks  Indians.  All  on  velvet  when  he's 
sober,  but  every  so  often  he  just  naturally 
tosses  himself  up  in  the  air.  He  kept  hold 
for  six  months  after  I  signed  with  his  com 
pany.  He  can  act.  At  the  end  of  that  six 
months  we  were  turning  'em  away  every 
night  from  our  little  north  side  house.  Sure- 
enough  folks  came  to  see  us.  There  were  as 
many  carriages  in  line  as  at  the  downtown 
theaters.  The  papers  said  it  was  a  case  of 
the  recrudescence  of  an  artist.  Everything 
was  boosting  his  game  when  one  evening  he 

177 


A   Little  Brother  of  the  Rich 

started  out  to  see  if  he  could  get  outside  all 
the  booze  on  Clark  street.  I  guess  he  man 
aged  it  all  right  at  that — he  was  a  very  ear 
nest  man.  Anyway  not  long  after  he  dropped 
out  of  sight.  Sylvia  and  I  got  our  notices — " 

"How  did  she — Sylvia  do?  "Was  she  a 
good  actress?'* 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Blanche.  "She 
didn't  know  anything.  And  she  didn't  seem 
to  care  much  either,  except  she  was  glad  to 
have  ten  instead  of  six  a  week.  We  roomed 
together  and  had  three  nice  little  rooms  and 
a  bath.  "We  were  a  whole  lot  better  off.  The 
raise  of  your  wages  from  six  to  ten  a  week  is 
the  biggest  kind  of  a  raise.  You  can  live 
three  times  as  well  on  ten  as  on  six." 

""What  parts  did  she  take?" 

"Oh,  she  had  good  parts  now  and  then. 
It  was  a  small  company  and  we  changed  the 
bill  every  week  and  when  there  were  several 
important  female  characters,  Sylvia  or  I  had 
to  get  in.  But  she  wasn't  much  account  for 
a  while.  She  just  walked  through  her  parts ; 
and  got  away  with  it  because  she  was  so  good 
looking  and  graceful.  I  had  to  act  because  I 
was  neither." 

"Come,  come,"  laughed  Carl.  "No  fish- 
178 


The  Making  of  A   Mime 

ing  allowed  on  these  premises  under  pen 
alty—" 

1  'But  Sylvia  always  attracted  attention, 
though  she  wasn't  acting  a  little  bit.  I've 
seen  her  get  a  hand  for  nothing  at  all  but 
looking  like  a  beautiful  hard  luck  story,  while 
I  was  working  my  head  off  to  a  cold  house. 

"It  wasn't  until  'Wife  or  No  Wife?'  that 
she  woke  up.  At  the  opening  of  that,  one 
Monday  evening,  she  hit  us  all  like  a  cyclone. 
She  reminded  you  of  a  tigress  held  back  by 
chains,  like  you've  seen  in  pictures,  and 
fighting  like  mad.  If  anything  she  overdid 
and  put  in  too  much  color  and  passion.  She 
made  all  the  rest  of  us  look  pale  and  bloodless 
like  a  lot  of  walking  women.  The  regular 
leading  woman,  Miss  Dorcey,  was  off  that 
evening  and  Sylvia  was  understudying  her. 
In  the  last  scene,  between  Leamington  and 
Sylvia,  the  whole  company  was  hanging  in 
the  wings,  knocked  silly.  It  was  as  if  a 
statue  suddenly  came  to  life.  She  had  been 
so  mechanical  and  lifeless  until  then — and 
now  she  had  that  big  crowded  house  in  her 
hands.  After  the  final  curtain  we  all  clus 
tered  around  her  and  Leamington,  in  the 
center  of  the  stage  to  hear  what  he'd  say. 

179 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"He  seemed  quite  solemn  and  just  gulped 
for  a  while.  Then  he  said,  'Girl,  you  have 
the  making  of  an  actress,  and  I  thought  you 
were  only  a  show  girl.  Work  hard,  work 
hard,  for  it  is  in  you.'  Then  he  walked  off 
quickly,  blowing  his  nose — and  his  eyes  were 
pretty  bright. 

1  'She  was  still  breathing  hard  from  the 
scene;  her  hair  was  tumbled  all  about  her; 
and  her  eyes  just  glowed  and  glimmered  and 
burned.  We  all  broke  out  together  then,  and 
shook  her  hands,  and  the  women  kissed  her, 
but  the  only  thing  she  said  was  this:  'This 
is  the  sixth  of  February.  I  knew  how  to  play 
a  deserted  woman  tonight.'  " 

Paul  drew  hard  at  his  cigar,  and  kept  silent. 
Carl  had  been  watching  him  intently  during 
Blanche's  recital,  then  leaned  over  to  him 
and  whispered,  "I  couldn't  for  the  life  of  me 
tell  where  I  had  seen  that  face  before.  So 
it  was  that  nice  girl  you  had  at  the  Prom?" 

"Yes,"  Paul  nodded  uneasily. 

Blanche  interrupted  her  narrative  to  watch 
the  men.  She  could  feel  that  they  were  talk 
ing  of  her  friend.  A  discord  had  been  struck, 
out  there  in  the  beauty  of  the  starry  night, 


180 


The  Making  of  A  Mime 

which  shocked  and  jarred  and  wholly  broke 
the  harmony  of  their  pleasant  communion. 

Carl  rose  suddenly.  *  *  Excuse  me  a  minute, 
dear.  I  want  to  find  that  old  college  scrap- 
book  of  mine.  Do  you  remember  where  it  is  ? " 

"It  is  on  the  bottom  shelf  of  the  bookcase 
next  the  dining  room  door.  It's  lying  on  its 
side,  under  that  folding  checker  board. ' ' 

Carl  went  in  the  house  and  soon  called 
back  to  them,  "All  right,  I've  found  it — wait 
half  a  second  and  I'll  be  out  again." 

Presently  he  emerged,  his  face  rather  set 
and  grave.  "As  I  thought,"  he  said. 

"What?"  asked  Paul  with  a  voice  of  anx 
iety. 

* '  The  date  of  the  Prom  in  our  senior  year 
— February  sixth.  Go  on,  Blanche,  with  your 
story. ' ' 

The  woman  divined.  Paul  Potter,  the  man 
sitting  here  beside  her,  was  the  one  secret 
in  the  life  of  her  friend  into  which  she  had 
never  penetrated.  With  an  unforced  access 
of  dramatic  power,  she  resumed : 

"Her  first  performance  in  'Wife  or  No 
"Wife '  was  her  best.  After  that  she  lost  some 
of  her  naturalness.  But  that  whole  week  her 


181 


A  Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

work  was  way  above  anything  she'd  ever 
done  before. 

"The  next  week  we  put  on  ' Dishonor,'  and 
blessed  if  she  didn't  repeat.  She  made  half 
of  the  women  in  the  house  cry  when  she  came 
to  the  part  where  she  learned  of  her  brother's 
disgrace.  She  didn't  have  the  lead,  of  course. 
Dorcey  recovered  mighty  quick  when  she 
heard  about  Sylvia's  Ivonne  in  'Wife  or  No 
Wife,'  but  even  then  Sylvia  made  the  sister, 
Marianna,  stick  out  way  above  Dorcey 's 
sweetheart.  They  called  her  back  after  the 
final  curtain  three  times  with  Leamington  and 
still  kept  a-clapping.  Then  he  said  to  her, 
'Go  on,  my  dear,  take  this  alone,  it's  yours.' 
And  she  went  on  and  made  her  bow.  You 
ought  to  have  heard  the  reception  she  got. 

"She  came  back  all  a-tremble.  Leaming 
ton  kissed  her  on  the  cheek  right  before  us 
all  and  patted  her  hand  and  said,  'There  is 
much  unhappiness  in  store  for  you  because 
you  are  going  to  be  a  great  artist.  Mark 
my  words,  ladies  and  gentlemen,'  he  said  to 
the  rest  of  us,  'this  young  woman  is  going  to 
be  seated  with  the  immortals.' 

"Well,  we  all  felt  sort  of  solemn  and  looked 
at  her  as  if  she  were  something  new.  Then 
182 


« 

The  Making  of  A  Mime 

he  said,  'You  acted  well  today,  as  well  as 
half  of  our  second  class  stars. '  At  that  some 
of  the  radiance  left  her  face.  *  But  you  acted 
amazingly  well  for  a  beginner,  which  of 
course  is  all  that  you  are,  a  promising  begin 
ner.  You  must  work,  work,  work,  catch  those 
flashes  such  as  you  showed  in  the  last  act 
today  and  make  them  your  obedient  servant, 
always  prompt  to  your  call.  Now  they  are 
but  fugitive  visitors,  which  come  and  go  as 
they  like.' 

"Then  one  of  the  boys  in  the  company  said, 
*  How  did  it  happen  today,  Cynthia ;  another 
date?' 

"Everybody  smiled,  but  when  she  said  in 
her  solemnest  tones,  'Yes,  it  is  the  thirteenth 
of  February.  I  have  been  thinking  and  I 
couldn't  help  showing  how  a  woman  feels 
when  dishonor  comes  to  the  men  of  her  fam 
ily.'  Well,  of  course  everybody  roared  at 
that  after  what  she  said  about  the  sixth  of 
February  the  week  before. 

"Then  someone  said  in  a  sepulchral  voice, 
'Lord  deliver  us  from  next  week's  show,  if 
this  thing  is  going  to  grow  on  her.' 

"We  all  choked  then  and  Sylvia  laughed 
too  after  a  while,  though  you  could  see  that 

183 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

she  didn't  like  it  at  first.  After  we  got  home 
she  told  me  what  she  meant — that  her  father 
was  discovered  to  be  an  embezzler  just  one 
year  to  a  day  before." 

1  'Let's  see,"  said  Carl,  "that  was  six  years 
ago  last  February,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Blanche. 

Again  Carl  leaned  over  to  Paul  to  whis 
per,  "And  six  years  ago  last  February  four 
teenth,  you  finally  decided  to  take  a  position 
in  New  York.  Don't  you  remember  it  was  St. 
Valentine's  Day  and  you  told  me  something 
about  wanting  that  job  for  a  Valentine?" 

Paul  did  not  know  what  to  say,  so  he 
merely  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
knocked  off  the  ash  and  regarded  the  glowing 
end  solemnly. 

"Don't  you  remember?"  persisted  Carl. 

Paul  bowed  his  head  with  shame,  with 
shame  because  he  had  been  discovered  in  a 
shameful  act  by  one  whose  favor  he  feared 
terribly  to  lose. 

Blanche,  after  a  pause,  continued :  *  *  When 
the  twentieth  of  February  came,  we  were  all 
teasing  Sylvia  about  it,  but  the  night  before 
was  the  one  Leamington  had  chosen  to  begin 
his  spree;  and  after  he  was  out  of  the  way 

184 


The  Making  of  a  Mime 

Miss  Dorcey  soon  got  the  management  to 
give  Sylvia  her  notice.  I  handed  mine  in 
then,  because  it  was  such  a  raw  deal.  Her 
only  fault  had  been  in  working  too  well. 
Leamington  never  showed  up  at  that  theater 
again.  He  just  went  plumb  out  of  sight. 

"We  hunted  around  the  agencies  for  jobs, 
but  it  was  late  in  the  season,  everything 
taken,  and  companies  disbanding  every  now 
and  then  out  on  the  road  and  drifting  to  the 
cities  to  look  for  work.  Finally,  though  we 
booked  in  a  chorus  and  finished  out  the  sea 
son  with  The  Swinging  Girl." 

"The  chorus?"  interrupted  Paul.  "Did 
she  wear — ah — tights  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  she  did." 

"But  I  can't  imagine  her  doing  such  a 
thing, ' '  said  Paul. 

"You  can't,  eh?"  returned  Blanche, 
angrily.  "Well,  she  wore  'em  anyhow — and 
was  glad  of  the  chance.  They  were  turning 
away  a  dozen  girls  for  one  they  took.  She 
needed  work.  So  did  I.  We  hadn't  been 
getting  rich  on  ten  a  week,  you  understand." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  agreed  Paul  with 
evident  uneasiness. 

"You're  right,  then.  But  she  didn't  like 
185 


A   Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

the  musical  business.  She  couldn't  get  inter 
ested  in  chorus  work  after  those  big  days  she 
had  had  with  the  old  stock  show.  Besides  that, 
the  men  fussed  with  her  a  good  deal." 

"You  mean  stage  door  Johnnies?" 

"No,  I  don't  mean  stage  door  Johnnies, 
They  can't  hurt  anybody  that  don't  want  to 
be  hurt.  I  mean  the  insiders.  Seemed  as  if 
everybody  from  stage  hands  up  to  the  man 
ager  was  after  her." 

"Well!  "asked  Paul. 

"Well,  there  was  nothing  to  it,  for  them. 
So  they  held  her  back ;  though,  as  far  as  looks 
and  action  and  voice  went,  she  ought  to  have 
had  a  part,  sure.  But  she  didn't  even  get  an 
understudy.  She  kicked  to  the  manager,  and 
he  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  said, 
1  You  know,  dear,  nothing  goes  for  nothing  in 
this  business/  She  tumbled  and  quit.  Oh," 
said  Blanche,  "a  musical  show  is  a  pretty 
punk  place  for  a  pretty  girl."  She  sighed 
ruefully.  "And  for  a  good  many  as  well  that 
ain't  so  darn  pretty." 

Carl  laid  his  hand  softly  over  hers.  She- 
smiled  at  him  a  little  sadly,  and  continued: 
"The  next  season  the  two  of  us  managed  to 
get  twenty-five  weeks'  booking  in  vaudeville 
186 


The  Making  of  a  Mime 

In  a  sister  act — song  and  dance.  We  got 
seventy-five  a  week  for  the  two  of  us,  but  of 
course  we  only  worked  half  the  year,  and  we 
had  some  long  jumps  to  make,  so  the  car  fare 
pretty  near  ate  us  up,  and  the  end  of  the  year 
we  were  as  flat  as  ever. ' ' 

"What  a  life  for  her  to  lead,"  said  Paul. 
"I  remember  her  as  such  a  different  girl — 
esthetic,  spiritual,  over-refined,  always  petted 
and  looked  out  for,  and  dependent  on  others. 
And  that  she  should  come  to  tights  and  song 
and  dance.  It  seems  so  strange  to  me.  I  can 
hardly  understand  it." 

"Don't  make  any  mistake  about  one 
thing,"  Blanche  interrupted  in  quick  anger. 
"Don't  you  ever  make  any  mistake  about  one 
thing,  and  that  is,  she's  good.  I  know.  I  was 
her  partner  three  years  and  I've  heard  about 
her  since.  She's  straight  as  a  string,  and  I 
don't  want  to  hear  anybody  even  thinking 
she  ain't," 

"She  may  not  have  gone  the  whole  way — . 
but  she's  gone  some  of  it." 

Then  Carl  broke  out,  for  it  seemed  every 
stone  thrown  at  Sylvia  struck  Blanche  as 
well. 


isr 


A   Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Paul,  don't  justify 
yourself  so.  Who  started  her,  anyway?" 

'  *  Do  you  ever  go  to  see  a  song  and  dance  or 
a  musical  comedy,  Mr.  Potter,"  inquired 
Blanche  with  bitterness. 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"And  you  pay  admission,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"Well,  it's  you  and  other  men  that  make 
girls  wear  tights.  Girls  don't  wear  'em  for 
the  fun  of  it,  but  because  you  men  pay  'em 
to.  And  they've  got  to  have  money  to  live. 
You  pay  a  girl  six  or  eight  dollars  a  week  in 
a  store  to  stand  up  all  day  and  sell  goods  till 
she's  ready  to  yell  at  night  she's  so  nervous, 
and  you  offer  the  same  girl  eighteen  a  week 
to  wear  tights  and  dance  and  sing  in  a  chorus. 
Do  you  wonder  that  those  that  can, choose  the 
chorus.  Let  me  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Man. 
If  I  had  it  to  do  over  again,  I'm  damned 
if  I'd  ever  go  into  store  work  at  all — I'd 
light  out  straight  for  the  chorus.  We 
women  Ve  got  to  do  what  you  men  want  us 
to,  to  live  anyhow — and  it  seems  you  like  us 
better  in  the  chorus — you  pay  us  three  times 
as  much  for  showing  our  legs  as  for  selling 
your  wives  hardware — I'm  sick  of  all  this 

188 


The   Making  of  a  Mime 

bunk  about  the  chorus  girl — Let  me  ask  you 
one  thing :  which  is  the  decenter  proposition, 
the  girl  on  the  stage  who's  working  for  her 
living — and  working  hard,  too — or  the  rich 
loafer  in  the  bald-headed  row  who  comes 
night  after  night  to  look  at  her — and  tempt 
her  if  he  can?" 

"We-ell,  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  just  that 
way,  but  there's  surely  a  good  deal  in  what 
you  say.  I  guess  women  are  better  than  men 
anyway,"  said  Paul,  sighing.  A  little  glim 
mer  of  love,  of  regret,  was  beginning  to 
flicker  in  the  foggy  shadows  of  the  selfishness 
of  his  soul. 

"That  they  are,"  said  Blanche  promptly. 

"That  they  are,"  echoed  Carl. 

"Go  on  with  your  story  about  her,  won't 
you  please.  I  will  not  interrupt  with  dis 
agreeable  and  ridiculous  comments  any 
more,"  entreated  Paul. 

She  continued:  "It  was  hard  work  in 
vaudeville.  We  did  three  turns  a  day.  We 
worked  most  of  the  next  season  together,  too, 
but  we  weren  't  anything  special,  I  guess.  We 
both  sung  well  enough,  but  our  dancing  was 
sort  of  hazy  in  spots,  and  we  saw  we'd  run 
into  a  blind  alley.  We'd  never  go  much  fur- 

189 


A   Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

ther.  So  I  went  back  to  musical  work.  She 
got  into  a  repertoire  show  that  was  playing 
the  Canadian  Northwest.  She  told  me  after 
wards  it  was  pretty  tough.  One  night  stands, 
and  she  did  three-quarters  of  her  sleeping 
lying  half-cramped  in  a  day  coach  seat  with 
her  satchel  for  a  pillow.  The  work  was  so 
hard  she  couldn't  learn  anything.  She  got 
her  lines  and  let  it  go  at  that,  not  trying  to 
act  them. 

"She  was  pretty  blue  and  forgot,  a  good 
deal  of  the  time,  what  Leamington  had  said 
after  'Dishonor'  that  thirteenth  of  February. 
But  she  remembered  it  sometimes,  and  that's 
what  saved  her." 

" Saved  her  from  what!" 

* '  From  losing  her  ambition.  The  next  sea 
son  she  signed  up  with  Frawly." 

"You  don't  mean  Charles  Frawly?" 

"Yes,  the  Frawly,  Charles  Frawly.  He 
was  taking  'Put  Yourself  in  His  Place'  on  the 
road  after  its  two  years'  run  in  New  York. 
He  wouldn't  take  his  original  company. 
Frawly  always  was  a  saver,  so  he  got  in  a  lot 
of  cheap  people.  Sylvia  had  luck  for  once 
and  got  the  ingenue,  fifty  dollars  a  week.  I 
guess  Sylvia's  looks  counted  with  Frawly 
190 


The   Making  of  a   Mime 

when  he  saw  her.  That 's  what  they  say  about 
him.  She  wrote  me  it  was  heavenly  peace 
after  Canadian  repertoire.  One  little  easy 
part  to  get,  hardly  any  rehearsals,  and  nice 
gowns  to  wear.  They  stayed  a  week  in  most 
places,  too.  She  sent  me  a  lot  of  her  notices. 
She  seemed  to  be  going  pretty  strong  with 
the  papers  and  the  public;  and  I  guess  she 
was  going  pretty  strong  with  herself,  too, 
about  then.  Anyway,  she  wasn't  reading 
much  of  anything  but  the  show  papers,  and 
you've  got  to  keep  a-reading,  to  climb.  Her 
face  was  carrying  her  along  and  she  wasn't 
doing  much  to  help  it.  That  was  when  this 
picture  was  taken." 

"I  should  think  her  face  would  have  car 
ried  her  along, ' '  commented  Paul. 

"But  that  was  bad  for  her.  Anyhow,  one 
day  down  in  New  Orleans  she  ran  into  an  old 
tramp  on  the  street,  and  it  was  Leamington. 
She  gave  him  some  money  and  told  him  to 
get  a  bath  and  a  shave  and  suit  of  clean 
hand-me-downs,  and  take  her  out  to  lunch. 
He  came  looking  a  lot  better,  but  blear-eyed. 
They  had  it  out  for  a  while,  and  of  course  he 
took  the  pledge  again.  She  talked  to  Frawly 
and  he  said  he'd  give  Leamington  a  try  for 

191 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

old  sake's  sake.  They'd  come  out  as  young 
stars  in  New  York  at  the  same  time,  twenty 
years  ago,  you  know,  and  they  do  say  that 
Leamington  had  the  edge  on  him,  till  booze 
cut  into  the  game.  The  end  of  it  was  that 
Frawly  said  he'd  pay  Leamington's  salary 
to  Sylvia  and  she  was  to  keep  it  back  till  the 
end  of  the  tour,  so's  he  wouldn't  get  full. 
But  he  didn't  get  full  even  at  the  end  of  the 
tour.  He  banked  his  money.  That  was  over 
two  years  ago  and  I  heard  he  hadn't  a  drink 
since." 

' '  How  do  you  account  for  it  ? "  asked  Paul. 

''Because  he's  in  love  with  her.  He  wants 
to  marry  her;  but  she  won't. 

1  'Well,  the  next  season  they  went  back  to 
stock  in  Kansas  City,  but  now  Leamington 
gets  rights  on  new  plays  sometimes,  instead 
of  just  working  out  the  old  ones.  That  way 
he  keeps  a  piece  on  for  a  month  or  more,  in 
stead  of  just  a  week.  He's  afraid  that  when 
they  change  every  week  Sylvia  won't  have  a 
chance  to  get  the  fine  points,  the  little  bits  of 
business  that  make  the  difference  between  a 
passable  and  a  big  performance. 

"It's  all  Sylvia  with  Leamington  now. 
That  whole  stock  company  is  nothing  but  a 

192 


The   Making  of  a   Mime 

dramatic  school  for  her.  The  other  actors 
are  only  her  props.  He  don't  pay  much  at 
tention  to  their  work,  and  he  don't  pay  much 
to  his  own,  but  worries  himself  sick  every 
performance  watching  her  get  through. 
Sometimes  the  critics  roast  him  for  being 
dead  and  hold  up  as  a  contrast  the  exuberant 
bounding  vitality  of  that  splendidly  promis 
ing  young  artist,  Cynthia  Castleman — but  it 
never  even  feazes  him.  And  when  an  actor's 
beyond  jealousy,  he's  pretty  far  gone. 

*  *  Almost  always  he 's  gentle  and  sweet,  but 
once  in  a  long  while  he  loses  his  temper.  He 
overworks  her  and  himself  both,  but  he  won't 
let  up  on  either  her  or  himself.  She  said  she 
got  so  tired  with  the  work  he  made  her  do, 
that  she  used  to  cry  and  complain,  but  now 
she  knows  that  it's  all  for  her  good,  and  so 
she  stands  it  the  best  she  can.  She 's  run  way 
down  in  flesh,  though,  with  it  all.  Yet  he 
won't  let  up.  It  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  mania 
with  him  that  she's  to  become  the  greatest 
actress  in  America.  And  I  guess  she  will, 
if  she  lives.  Sometimes,  after  the  show,  he 
keeps  her  up  until  three  or  four  o  'clock  in  the 
morning  going  over  scenes. 

"Last  April  when  I  went  out  to  visit  her,  I 
193 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

saw  him  put  her  through.  They  were  going 
over  * '  Lookout  Mountain. ' '  He  was  terribly 
nervous  and  strung  up,  you  could  see  that, 
but  he  kept  calm  and  gentle  till  they  struck 
the  opening  of  the  fourth  act.  She  told  me 
afterwards,  in  apologizing  for  him,  that  she'd 
disappointed  him  in  this  act  for  a  long  time, 
that  she'd  been  working  and  working,  but 
couldn't  get  it  his  way.  When  he  corrected 
her  a  few  times  I  could  see  plainly  enough 
that  she  was  pretty  near  all  in.  Leamington 
was  Captain  Sheldon  coming  home  from  the 
war,  limping  and  his  arm  in  a  sling,  while 
she  was  Agnes  who'd  been  his  bride  of  a 
week,  two  years  before.  He  walked  eagerly 
toward  the  chair  which  stood  for  the  old 
white  gate. 

"When  she  saw  him,  she  rushed  to  him, 
and  kissed  him,  but  she  didn't  do  it  to  suit 
him  and  he  suddenly  burst  out  in  mixed  pray 
ers  and  curses,  'Lord,  Lord,  deliver  me  from 
such  abysmal  stupidity.  0  merciful  Father, 
why,  why,  why  did'st  thou  not  endow  her 
pretty  empty  head  with  brains?' 

"Then  he  screamed  at  her,  'No,  no,  that's 
wrong;  do  you  understand,  dead  WRONG. 
You're  not  a  sweet  girl  graduate  swinging 
194 


The  Making  of  a  Mime 

over  a  gate  with  your  puppy  love.  You're 
a  grown  woman,  meeting  your  soldier  hus 
band  who's  limping  home  to  you,  after  you'd 
thought  him  dead.' 

"Then  she  tried  it  another  way,  and  he 
muttered  scornfully,  half  aloud:  *  She's  not 
playing  Delilah  nor  Dubarry  nor  Cleopatra 
nor  Sapho,  nor  any  other  wanton.  But  she 
thinks  she  is.  The  part,  to  be  sure,  calls  for 
a  decent  American  married  woman  who's 
glad  to  see  her  soldier  husband  home.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  find  anything  to  indicate 
that  Agnes  Sheldon  was  a  half  crazed  sen 
sualist.  This  young  woman  here, '  he  pointed 
at  Sylvia,  'is  the  Columbus  of  that  discovery. 
Well,  we'll  try  again,  I  suppose.' 

' '  Then, ' '  continued  Blanche,  ' '  he  turned  to 
her  in  the  sweetest,  pleasantest  way,  just  as 
if  he  hadn't  meant  her  to  overhear  his  solil 
oquy,  and  said,  'Now,  Miss  Castleman,  try 
again,  if — you — please.'  He  sort  of  bit  off 
his  words,  'That — last — was — not — exactly — 
right. ' 

"She  began  to  cry,  and  I  interfered,  and 
told  Leamington  to  quit,  and  that  he'd  break 
her  down  and  kill  her.  He  ordered  me  out  of 
the  room,  but  I  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil 

195 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

and  finally  I  got  Sylvia  to  bed.    Yet  he  was 
at  it  again  just  the  same  the  next  night. ' ' 

"What  a  brute,"  murmured  Paul,  indig 
nant. 

"Yes,  a  brute,  but  a  great  teacher,  and  he'll 
make  her  or  kill  her.  He  loves  her." 

* '  Funny  kind  of  love. ' ' 

"Real  love.  He's  willing  to  take  chances 
with  her.  He  says  that  if  he  doesn't  work 
her,  she'll  remain  just  another  of  the  ocean 
of  mediocrities,  and  she  might  as  well  be 
broken  outright  as  that.  He'd  rather  gamble 
with  her,  and  see  if  he  can't  make  a  great 
artist  of  her — the  only  thing  in  his  creed 
that's  worth  while." 

"Play-acting  is  evidently  more  of  a  task 
than  has  been  popularly  supposed,"  observed 
Paul,  sententiously. 

"Play-acting,"  quoth  Blanche,  "is  a  bum 
expression.  It's  work,  acting.  But  she's 
getting  along.  Leamington  says  now  in  a 
couple  of  years  she'll  be  ready  to  go  to 
Broadway.  But  he  won't  let  her  try  it  in 
New  York  till  she  is  all  polished  off  and  fin 
ished.  He  wants  her  to  hit  the  town  straight 
between  the  eyes  when  she  comes.  And  she'll 
doit.  That 's  my  guess. " 
196 


The  Making  of  a   Mime 

" Pretty  near  bed-time,"  said  Carl,  yawn 
ing.  " Breakfast  at  seven-thirty,  you  know." 

For  a  very  long  time  that  night,  Paul  lay 
awake,  passing  his  years  in  review. 

He  rose  from  his  bed  and,  leaning  his  el 
bows  on  the  sill,  looked  up  at  the  late  moon 
slight  and  low  in  her  last  quarter  Said  he  to 
himself,  "I  wonder  if  Carl  will  e  down  on 
me  because  of  Sylvia.  That  Blant  \e  woman, 
if  she  takes  it  into  her  head,  can  make  him 
think  it  was  pretty  bad." 


197 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CA~£  UTTERS  A  PROPHECY 

"Oh,  K,t  me  hold  her  a  minute,  Mrs.  Ches 
ter,"  he  pleaded  as  they  sat  at  breakfast  the 
next  morning.  "She's  going  to  be  just  ex 
actly  like  Carl,  don't  you  think!  Look  at  those 
eyes  and  that  forehead — his  exactly.  And 
her  flesh — how  firm  it  is.  She'll  be  an  athlete 
some  day — probably  captain  of  the  Vassar 
basket-ball  team."  He  gently  poked  the  in 
fant  in  the  ribs,  whereat  she  gurgled.  "Eh, 
you  little  beauty?"  he  laughed. 

The  front  door  bell  rang  and  Blanche  left 
the  room  to  answer  it. 

"It's  a  letter  from  Sylvia,"  she  said,  re 
turning.  "I  will  read  it  to  you." 

"Methodist  Hospital,  Kansas  City, 

July  16. 

Dearest  B 

/  have  had  rather  a  siege  of  it — appendi- 
J98 


Carl  Utters   a   Prophecy 

citis.  But  I  am  out  of  danger  now,  and 
could,  if  necessary,  work  again  in  a  month. 

The  people  in  the  company  were  kind  to 
me.  They  gave  me  two  benefit  matinees,  and 
a  good  many  of  my  friends  in  toivn  went 
especially.  So  I  am  not  in  deep  water  finan 
cially.  My  debts  are  all  to  long  suffering 
creditors  who  are  willing  to  wait  until  I  go 
to  work  again  before  pressing  me. 

This  is  my  sixth  week  in  t'te  hospital. 
Some  blood-poisoning  complications  threat 
ened.  But  the  time  hasn't  been  wasted 
entirely.  I  have  talked  and  talked  and 
talked  with  the  doctors  and  internes  and 
nurses  about  diseases,  especially  consump 
tion,  fainting,  <fbrain  fever"  (they  say 
there  isn't  such  a  thing),  heart  disease  and 
other  favorites  of  the  dramatist.  Dr.  Syl 
vester,  the  famous  alienist  and  nerve 
specialist  (you  have  heard  of  him,  surely), 
comes  in  nearly  every  day  now;  and  some 
times  stays  over  an  hour  with  me  in  the 
convalescent's  sun  parlor,  where  I  sit  in  a 
wheeled  chair.  He  has  given  me  exhaustive 
and  very  clear  and  lucid  lectures — (for  that 
is  what  they  are,  just  as  if  he  were  talking 
in  a  class-room) — about  the  various  forms 

199 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

and  manifestations  of  insanity  and  moral 
decrepitude.  The  value  of  all  this  can 
not  be  over-estimated,  for  I  believe,  judg 
ing  from  the  present  trend  of  playwriting 
that  the  great  tragedies  and  dramas  of  the 
future  will  deal  with  destructions  and 
injuries  which  fall  upon  the  mind,  rather 
than  upon  the  body. 

Dr.  Sylvester  is  a  splendid,  clean,  whole 
some,  sound,  strong  man,  calm,  incisively 
intelligent  and  well-poised.  I  think  he  likes 
me. 

1  have  also  improved  my  time  ivith  ^vork  on 
make-up.  Like  most  actresses,  I  knew  my 
own  beauty  make-up,  but  not  much  more. 
Why  have  we  women  left  make-up  to  men? 
I  suppose  because  we're  too  vain  to  take 
an  interest  in  anything  but  the  beauty  make 
up.  And  when  we  have  a  character  part, 
most  of  us  slap  on  a  deep  lake  ground  tone, 
line  on  a  few  heavy  grey  black  wrinkles,  and 
then  neglect  to  blend  them  in.  So  we  look 
ridiculous  and  completely  destroy  the  illu 
sion.  I  am  going  to  keep  on  with  my  make-up 
until  I  can  paint  my  face  as  faithfully  to 
nature,  when  seen  across  the  lights,  as  intelli- 


200 


Carl   Utters   a   Prophecy 

gently  and  as  skillfully  as  an  artist  painty 
his  canvas. 

I  have  left  my  really  bad  news  until  the 
last.  Poor  Leamington  has  disappeared 
again.  It  happened  two  days  after  I  came 
here  to  the  hospital.  They  didn't  tell  me  for 
three  weeks,  so  as  not  to  upset  me,  and  they 
have  no  trace  of  him  at  all.  He  has  been 
so  kind,  so  unselfish,  so  loyal,  so  painstak 
ing  wiih  me.  You  know  that  he  wants  me 
to  marry  him.  I  said  no,  very  definitely  the 
day  before  I  was  brought  here.  I  suppose 
I  was  sick  at  the  time  and  didn't  know  it — 
which  may  have  accounted  for  my  harshness. 

If  I  believed  that  I  could  keep  him  straight 
fyy  marrying  him,  I  would  do  it.  He  is  so 
considerate,  and  truly  a  consummate  artist. 
The  company  is  falling  to  pieces  very  rapidly 
with  both  of  us  gone.  I  think  they  will 
darken  the  house  soon  now,  though  the  man 
agement  had  expected  to  run  us  here  all 
summer — we  were  doing  so  well.  It's  too 
bad,  isn't  it? 

Of  course  1  probably  shan't  be  able  to  get 
a  position  before  the  season  opens — but  the 
rest  will  do  me  good,  and  I  shall  have  time 
for  much  needed  reading. 

201 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

I  should  like  to  know  ivliere  poor  Leaming 
ton  is.  I  think  I  could  brace  him  up  again. 
It  is  over  two  years  since  his  last  lapse. 

He  said  that  next  season  we  should  sign 
up  ivith  a  number  two  company  playing  one 
of  last  season's  New  York's  successes  with 
a  suitable  part  for  me  in  it,  and  go  on  the 
road.  He  said  that  repertoire  work  has  now 
done  about  all  it  can  do  for  me  for  the 
present;  that  I  have  learned  how  to  rough- 
hew  pretty  well,  and  that  now  I  must  learn 
to  refine,  to  acquire  the  details  and  sub 
tleties  of  acting.  So  luhether  I  can  find  him 
or  not,  that  is  what  I  am  going  to  try  for 
the  coming  season.  Of  course  I  can  hardly 
hope  for  a  lead  (though  I  could  play  the 
leads  better  than  three-fourths  of  your  met 
ropolitan  doll-ingenues  w'ho  are  starred  now- 
a-days),  but  I  do  want  a  part  I  can  think 
about  and  work  out,  and  re-create.  I  won't 
take  a  self-acting,  pretty  girl  part.  I  shan't 
go  into  Neiv  York  until  I  am  ready.  He 
said  that  would  be  two  years  more  at  least 
— perhaps  three. 

But  some  day  1  will  go  into  New  York — 
and  take  it.  Some  day  my  name  will  be 
in  electric  lights  on  Broadway;  and  that  day 
202 


Carl   Utters  a   Prophecy 

my  career  will  have  its  beginning.  Until 
then,  all  is  preparation,  school  days. 

I  believe  that  all  this  is  coming  to  pass 
as  firmly  and  as  surely  and  as  confidently 
as  I  believe  in  the  goodness  of  my  mother. 
If  I  didn't  know  that  great  art  was  some 
day  to  be  mine,  I  wouldn't  care  to  go  on 
living  one  single  day  longer. 

Good-bye,  dear  Blanchette.  Love  to  the 
kiddy.  Ever  yours,  SYLVIA." 

When  the  reading  was  finished,  Carl 
looked  at  Paul  a  long  while  without  speak 
ing,  then  he  said,  "She  is  a  fine  woman; 
she  is  a  very  fine  woman." 

"It  is  a  hard  life,  a  very  hard  life,"  Paul 
answered. 

"There  are  few  winners  in  it,"  said 
Blanche,  rising  from  the  table,  "but  she  is 
one  of  them." 

Carl  fell  again  into  silence.  Finally,  "I 
feel  like  a  fat,  asthmatic,  pet  poodle,  when  I 
hear  of  such  a  beautiful,  lithe,  wild  thing  of 
the  forests  as  she." 

"There  you  go  again,"  laughed  Paul. 
"The  beautiful,  lithe,  wild  things  are  shot 
and  trapped  and  hunted;  they  kill  and 

203 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

tear  and  destroy  each  other.  I  know,  for 
I  was  a  wild  thing  myself  once.  The  for 
ests  are  green  and  pleasant  in  the  spring, 
but  they  are  iron-cruel  in  winter. ' ' 

''And  it  was  you  that  sent  her  to  those 
iron-winters.  If  you  had  done  the  square 
thing,"  said  Carl  with  a  sneer  not  wholly 
covered,  "you  would  have  saved  her  from" 

"Saved  her  from  the  stage,"  Paul  inter 
rupted.  "Come,  now,  would  that  have  been 
good  for  me,  or  for  her,  or  for  the  stage?" 

Carl  looked  him  square  in  the  eye.  ' '  No, ' ' 
said  he  deliberately,  "it  would  not  have 
been  good  for  the  stage  or  for  her — that  is 
true.  It  might  have  been  a  damned  good 
thing  for  you,  though." 

Paul  laughed  scornfully,  recklessly.  The 
turbulent  storm  of  emotions  which  the  mem 
ories  of  Sylvia  had  raised  in  him,  and  whose 
expression  he  would  deny,  now  in  perverted 
shape  urged  him  on  to  quarrel  with  the  kindly 
little  chap,  to  whom  in  accordance  with  the 
customs  and  edicts  of  New  York's  fashion's 
feudalism  he  owed  allegiance. 

"Yes,  Carl,  yes,"  he  exclaimed,  "It's  all 
very  well  to  talk  so.  You  have  love  in  sim 
plicity  here,  but  it's  play  simplicity — like 
204 


Carl   Utters  a   Prophecy 

artificial  rusticity  of  Antoinette's  court 
before  the  revolution.  They  played  at  dairy 
ing,  and  you  play  at  love  in  a  cottage." 

"Play — this  is  my  real  life.  The  other 
with  its  pageantry  and  riot  is  the  make- 
believe  to  me.  If  I  had  to  give  up  this  or 
the  other,  I  would  give  up  the  other — with 
out  a  flicker  of  hesitation. ' ' 

Paul  turned  on  him  suddenly,  a  trace  of 
a  sneer  curling  his  lips.  "You  people  who 
were  bred  and  born  and  reared  in  parks  and 
palaces,"  said  he,  "may  find  a  charm  in  the 
picturesque  plainness  of  the  cottages  you  can 
see  without,  when  you  look  through  the 
palings,  but  you  don't  go  outside  to  live  just 
the  same.  You  may  ride  through  your  gates 
for  a  hunting  expedition,  but  you  come  back 
when  you  're  dirty  and  tired  and  want  a  bath, 
fresh  linen  and  a  good  dinner. ' ' 

"Whatever  you  may  think,  Paul  Potter," 
answered  Carl  in  a  voice  low  and  passionate, 
"this  is  the  only  place  on  earth  that  counts 
with  me ;  the  only  spot  where  happiness  ever 
finds  me ;  this  is  my  home,  where  the  women  I 
love  lives.  Do  you  dream  for  an  instant  that 
I'd  let  position  and  money  and  society  and 
all  its  follies  come  before  this!  If  so,  you 

205 


A  Little   Brother  of  the  Rich 

misjudge  me  wholly.  Don't  judge  me  by 
yourself. ' ' 

To  which  Paul  answered,  "I  only  hope 
you'll  never  have  the  test  made.  You  can 
never  tell  what  you'll  do  in  a  pinch  until  the 
pinch  comes." 

Paul,  realizing  that  suspicion  always  vis 
ited  the  powerful  with  most  damnable 
facility,  was  greatly  disturbed  by  the  little 
quarrel.  Let  Carl  once  begin  to  argue  that  a 
man  who,  for  her  lack  of  money,  had  aban 
doned  a  woman,  would  probably,  for  love  of 
money  profess  friendship  to  another  man; 
and  many  of  Paul's  most  radiant  new  plans 
would  find  themselves  dangerously  menaced. 

He  courted  Carl  for  ten  days  before  the 
last  evidence  of  his  disapproval  was  wholly 
erased.  Then  patience,  tact,  forbearance  to 
snubs  were  rewarded.  The  wooer  was  re 
stored  to  favor.  And  he  learned  his  lesson 
well.  No  more  would  he  allow  himself  the 
indulgence  of  the  quick  retort  at  the  expense 
of  the  young  millionaire  who  had  been  his 
roommate — for  now  they  were  in  New  York, 
not  in  New  Haven. 


206 


CHAPTER  XX 


Mrs.  Evers  was  being  dressed  for  lunch 
eon.  It  was  half  past  eleven  in  the  morning ; 
and  luncheon  was  not  until  one  thirty,  but 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  dressing  to  be 
done.  She  sat  in  Valenciennes  lace  petticoat 
and  short  white  chiffon  dressing  jacket,  be 
fore  a  wide  triple-mirrored  table  whereon 
were  scattered  a  profusion  of  toilet  articles. 

There  were  brushes,  combs,  hand-glasses, 
jars  for  rouge,  cold-cream,  pomade,  bottles 
of  hair  brilliance,  hair  restorer,  hair  vivi- 
fier,  hair  tonic,  nail  scissors,  nail  files,  nail 
cleaners,  nail  polishers,  powder-puffs,  face 
pincers,  electric  needles,  and  many  boxes 
for  false  hair.  All  were  backed,  finished  or 
topped  in  carven  yellow  gold,  for  the  pride 
of  Mrs.  Evers. 

As  she  sat,  studying  her  profile  in  the 
207 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

triple  mirror  a  bearded  Frenchman  wove 
her  chestnut  hair  into  strange,  artificial  rip 
ples.  "Gaston,"  she  said  impatiently, 
' '  sometimes  I  think  you  are  ruining  my  hair. 
It  is  beginning  to  look  dead.  You  do  much 
better  for  my  sister. ' ' 

"Ah,  but  madame  know  zat  Madame  "Wlld- 
merding  do  not  have  her  hair  wave  so 
tight,  and  wiz  not  sooch  a  'ot  iron." 

"Nonsense.  If  you  had  a  good  tonic,  you 
can  make  it  as  glossy  as  ever.  I  must  have 
my  hair  waved  tightly.  I  couldn't  stand  it 
floppy  and  bulgy.  That's  not  my  type." 

"I  will  do  ze  best  I  can,  madame." 

"Besides  you  have  been  making  my  fore 
head  altogether  too  low.  I  know  I  said  to 
make  it  low,  but  youVe  left  practically  no 
forehead  at  all,  and  my  nose  becomes  too 
prominent.  Leave  my  forehead  low,  but 
don't  make  it  vanish.  Any  gray  hairs  this 
morning?" 

"No,  madame." 

"Well,  there  were  some  last  week.  Glass 
noticed  them  after  the  Elsom's  ball.  Be 
careful  that  it  doesn't  happen  again." 

"Yes,  madame." 

A  young  woman  was  polishing  Mrs.  Evers ' 
208 


The   Uses   of  a   Lady 

finger  nails  while  Gaston  was  dressing  her 
hair. 

"Miss  Furness,  don't  you  think  it  would 
look  smarter  to  have  them  a  little  longer 
and  more  pointed?"  anxiously  queried  the 
lady  of  fashion.  "I  think  you've  been  keep 
ing  them  too  blunt. 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  answered  the  mani 
cure  sulkily. 

A  tall,  thin  chested  working  girl  came  into 
the  room,  carrying  a  large  cylindrical  card 
board  box  labelled  "Madame  Delorme." 
Presently  Mrs.  Evers  waved  her  free  hand  to 
the  girl,  motioning  to  open  the  box. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  exclaimed  the  lady, 
her  hard  disappointment  breaking  forth  as 
the  little  lace  and  feather  edifice  was  held  be 
fore  her,  "what  do  you  mean  by  bringing 
me  such  a  hideosity?  How  dare  Madame 
Delorme  send  me  plumes  made  up  of  three, 
no,  four,  little  feathers  put  together?  She 
knows  I  will  stand  no  such  cheap-John  tricks. 
Take  that  back  at  once  and  tell  her  I  shall 
not  pay  her  one  penny  until  she  does  better. ' ' 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  girl,  and  retired. 

"Glass,"  the  lady  now  addressed  her  maid. 
"Call  Mr.  Potter  on  the  telephone." 

209 


A  Little  Brother  of  the   Rich 

Presently  Glass  announced,  "Mr.  Potter 
is  on  the  wire,  madame. ' ' 

Mrs.  Evers  took  the  receiver  with  her  left 
hand,  her  right  being  extended  to  the  mani 
cure,  while  Glass  held  the  transmitter  close 
to  her  lips.  "Hello,  Mr.  Potter!  This  is 

M " "And  I'm  glad  to  hear  you, 

too." "Oh,  he  went  downtown  long 

ago.  I'm  just  getting  up.  I  hope  I  didn't 
disturb  you,  calling  you  at  your  office,  but  it's 

really  very  important." "How  polite 

you  are  getting  to  be." "Well,  I  thought 

you'd  come  up  for  dinner  tonight  at  a  quar 
ter  before  seven.  Die  Valkyrie  begins  at  half 
past  seven,  and  I  could  drive  you  over  in 
the  brougham.  Wouldn't  that  be  nice?" 

"Nobody,  just  ourselves." "No, 

he  won't  be  here,  just  we  two.  Then  after 
wards  we  all  come  back  for  supper  here." 

"Well,  then,  that's  settled.  Quarter  to 

seven.  I'm  so  glad.  Good-bye." 

"Glass,  ask  Mrs.  Bishop  to  step  up." 

The  housekeeper,  a  pleasant  looking  mid 
dle-aged,  stout  English  matron  entered.  * '  Oh 
good  morning,  Mrs.  Bishop,"  said  Muriel 
pleasantly.  "Dinner  for  two  in  the  breakfast 
room  at  quarter  to  seven ;  we  're  going  to  the 
210 


The  Uses  of  a  Lady 

opera;  and  then  we'll  have  supper  at  mid 
night  for  eighteen  or  twenty.  You'd  better 
count  on  twenty-four.  Make  it  elastic,  I 
mean." 

"Yes,  madam;  have  you  any  wishes  about 
the  supper?" 

"Well,  let's  see.  Fresh  caviare  and  water 
cress  salad.  Whatever  else  you  think  of. 
The  birds  were  dry  and  overcooked  Satur 
day.  Be  sure  to  speak  to  the  chef  about  that 
for  tonight.  I  won't  be  here  for  lunch. 
And  Mrs.  Bishop,  the  bills  are  getting  fright 
ful.  You  must  cut  them  down.  You  can't? 
Well,  try  anyway.  Flowers?  Oh,  violets, 
and  orchids.  But  not  too  many  orchids.  We 
simply  must  economize.  Have  some  palms 
put  in  the  corner  of  the  hall.  I've  arranged 
for  the  harpist  woman  to  come.  No,  don't 
come  to  me  with  such  troubles.  I  want  you 
to  take  the  burden  of  those  details  off  my 
shoulders.  The  doctor  says  I  must  show 
more  consideration  for  my  nerves,  or  I'll 
have  nervous  prostration.  Discharge  him 
and  get  another,  if  you  want,  but  don't  bother 
me  about  it." 

The  manicure,  the  hairdresser  and  Mrs, 
Bishop  departed.  Mrs.  Evers  gazed  search 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ingly  at  herself  in  the  dressing  table  mirror, 
then  gently  pressed  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to 
the  corners  of  her  eyes  as  if  in  exorcism 
of  the  threatening  and  relentless  wrinklets 
which  she  regarded  each  day  anew  with 
fresh  and  unhappy  alarm.  She  sighed,  and 
brushed  the  white-powder  puff  lightly  over 
her  face.  She  dipped  a  chamois  rag  into 
the  rouge  pot,  rubbed  her  cheeks  with  it, 
paused  and  looked  again  into  the  glass. 

"Is  that  noticeable  now,  Glass?"  she 
inquired  anxiously. 

The  maid  regarded  her  carefully,  took  a 
fresh  bit  of  chamois  and  rubbed  her  mistress' 
cheeks.  ' '  That  is  better,  madam. ' ' 

"But  I  look  ghastly,  now,  Glass." 

"No,  madam." 

"Oh,  very  well,  but  I  tell  you  I  do," 
insisted  the  lady,  who  however  yielded  the 
point,  and  taking  up  the  pink-powder  puff 
brushed  it  carefully  over  her  face.  She  took 
a  charcoal  pencil  and  touched  her  eyebrows, 
thrice  drew  a  stick  of  red  pomade  over  her 
lips  and  moistened  the  lobes  of  her  ears 
with  the  stopper  of  the  eau  de  violette  bottle. 

Glass  carefully  held  open  a  skirt  of  claret- 
red  velvet,  slipped  it  over  Mrs.  Ever's  head, 
212 


The   Uses   of  a   Lady 

then  fastened  it  very,  very  tightly  in  the 
back. 

Mrs.  Evers  surveyed  herself  carefully  in 
the  cheval  glass,  turning  about  to  see  from 
every  angle  how  the  dress  hung,  smoothing 
it  down  with  the  palms  of  her  hands.  She 
moved  again  to  her  dressing  table  and  sat 
a  minute  studying  her  mirrored  reflection. 
She  snapped  a  single  row  of  very  large 
pearls  about  her  neck.  Then  she  raised  her 
hands  above  her  head.  Into  them  Glass 
placed  a  large  brown  velvet  hat  with  brown 
feather.  Mrs.  Evers  spent  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  adjusting  hat  and  hair  together  and 
another  ten  minutes  fitting  a  dotted  veil 
over  the  merger.  Still  gazing  into  the  mir 
ror  she  held  out  her  hands  to  her  maid  who 
drew  upon  them  a  pair  of  new  white  kid 
gloves. 

The  lady  arose,  and  waited  while  the 
servant  adjusted  about  her  neck  eight  trail 
ing  feet  of  Russian  sable,  and  placed  in  her 
passive  hands  a  muff  of  the  same  costly 
fur. 

Then  she  again  walked  to  the  cheval  glass, 
and  turning  slowly  before  it,  said  with  satis 
faction:  "Well,  I  think  I  shall  do.  I'm 

213 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

afraid  I'm  late,  though.  Is  the  brougham 
out!  I'll  be  home  before  four.  Have  my 
lavender  tea-gown  ready." 

"Yes,  madam,"  answered  Glass. 


2141 


CHAPTER  XXI 


PAGEANTRY  RESPLENDENT 

"We  must  smoke  here,"  said  Muriel  as 
the  liqueurs  were  brought  by  the  butler 
and  the  footman  removed  the  last  debris  of 
the  feast  for  two  from  the  table.  "The 
smell  always  stays  in  my  hair,  if  I  smoke  in 
the  carriage.'*  They  lit  cigarettes.  Hers 
was  fitted  in  an  amber  holder  that  her  fingers 
might  be  protected  from  stain.  "We  shall 
have  to  hurry.  It's  half  after  now,"  she 
remarked. 

They  laid  their  half  finished  cigarettes  in 
their  coffee  saucers  and  went  downstairs. 
The  door  of  the  electric  brougham  was 
slammed  behind  them  by  the  hall  footman 
and  the  smoothly  running  vehicle  slid  noise 
lessly  down  the  asphalt  to  the  Metropolitan 
Opera  House. 

"You  are  wonderful  tonight,"  said  Paul. 
"The  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world." 

215 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

She  smiled  happily  and  turned  toward 
him.  As  they  flashed  by  the  street  lamps, 
his  sharply-cut,  strong  profile  stood  out  in 
bold  relief;  and  even  in  the  dominating  light 
of  the  arcs  his  tan,  gained  by  a  summer  of 
polo  and  an  autumn  of  drag-hunting,  con 
trasted  virilely  with  the  whiteness  of  his 
broad  shirt  bosom.  " Pauline,"  she  said,  "I 
wonder  you  are  not  spoiled  by  women.  You 
are  so  good-looking.  But  you  won't  let  them 
spoil  you,  will  you?" 

Presently  she  said,  "Listen  to  my  plan, 
dear.  After  supper  tonight,  wait  until  the 
last  people  are  leaving,  go  out  with  them, 
and  then  come  back  after  you  see  them  well 
started  for  home.  I  want  to  -  -  talk  to 
you  a  little  tonight;  and  Dick"  (Dick  was 
her  husband)  "telephoned  this  afternoon 
that  he  had  been  called  away  to  Philadelphia 
on  business  and  would  not  be  home." 

"Philadelphia?"  smiled  Paul. 

"Yes,  Phil-a-del-phia.  Truly  he  must 
think  I  am  terribly  simple.  But  then  I  don 't 
care  one  little  bit.  If  anything,  I  am  glad 
because  it  eases  my  conscience — about  you. 
He  was  the  first  to  begin,  by  many  years." 

The  opera  that  night  was  a  success.  The 
216 


Pageantry   Resplendent 

fashionable  women  of  New  York  displayed 
hundreds  of  yards  of  bare  neck  and  millions 
of  dollars  worth  of  jewels  to  the  gaze  of 
whomsoever  paid  to  see.  When  the  lights 
were  up  between  the  acts  they  sat  indolently 
in  the  front  seats  of  the  boxes  of  the  diamond 
circle,  talking  negligently  over  their  white 
shoulders  to  the  men  from  the  other  boxes 
who  had  come  in  to  visit  them. 

The  unfashionable  women,  gathered  from 
all  parts  of  the  country,  studied  the  box- 
holders,  marveling  at  their  calm  under  the 
fire  of  the  levelled  opera  glasses  and  excitedly 
whispering  to  their  husbands,  "Oh,  John 
(or  Henry  or  Richard),  that  must  be  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  third  box  on  the  right. 
See,  over  there." 

John  (or  Henry  or  Richard)  would  mur 
mur  indulgently,  "Well,  well,  what  of  it!" 
then  gaze  as  intently  as  his  good  wife  at 
the  woman  whose  husband  was  worth 
twenty-five  million  dollars.  "Let  me  have 
the  glasses,  a  minute,  Mary,"  he  would  say, 
"You  can't  keep  them  all  night." 

The  artists  upon  the  stage  were,  as  had 
been  advertised,  in  receipt  of  the  highest 
salaries  ever  paid  to  singers,  which  doubt- 

217 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

less  contributed  to  the  wild  applause  which 
burst  out  at  each  proper  pause  during  the 

performance. 

******  * 

Two  dozen  fashionables  came  to  Muriel's 
supper  party  after  the  opera.  The  more 
emotional  among  them  had  been  swept  from 
their  moorings  by  Wagner's  terrific  orches 
tration  and  by  the  organ  tones  of  Santuzzo's 
torrential  voice,  out  upon  unknown  oceans. 

But  now  they  were  returning  to  the  nar 
row  bays  and  shallow  charted  waters  of 
common  life.  They  sighed  for  the  vanishing 
brief  vision  of  immensity,  then  accepted  mat- 
ter-of-factness  as  finality,  and  fell  upon  the 
familiar  champagne. 

There  was  talk  of  the  price  of  stocks;  of 
Santuzzo's  voice  and  more  of  his  immorali 
ties;  of  the  latest  divorce  and  the  next  one. 
When  the  table  was  cleared,  a  few  of  the 
women  drifted  into  a  corner  to  exchange 
stray  anecdotes  of  London  society ;  and  a  few 
of  the  men  lingered  together  to  discuss  more 
intimately  than  they  had  cared  to  in  the 
presence  of  the  whole  party,  the  rumor  that 
the  elder  Wildmerding  and  Harvey  Ellis  had 
united  to  control  Fremont  Western  railroad. 
218 


Pageantry   Resplendent 

Potter  went  out  with  the  last  guests.  He 
bade  them  good-night  at  the  curbstone,  and! 
stepped  into  a  waiting  cab.  Five  minutes 
later  he  tapped  twice  on  the  Evers  front 
door,  which  was  quickly  opened  by  Muriel. 

"Come  upstairs  to  the  morning  room, 
Pauline,  and  we  can  have  a  chat.  But  don't 
make  a  noise." 

She  drew  up  two  chairs  side  by  side  in  the 
little  red  room,  before  the  wood  fire. 
* '  Murietta  will  make  him  comfy  in  a  minute, ' ' 
she  said,  lighting  a  cigarette  for  him,  and 
then  one  for  herself.  "Will  he  have  a  bink 
— just  a  little  one — and  she  will  have  one, 
too."  She  mixed  two  short  Scotch  highballs, 
handed  him  one  and  took  the  vacant  seat 
before  the  fire,  placing  her  feet  beside  his  on 
the  brass  fender. 

"Do  you  know,  boy,"  she  said,  "you 
must  have  some  really  big  qualities?  There 
are  not  many  who  could  do  what  you  have 
done.  To  come  here  penniless  from  a  little 
western  town  and  make  your  way  in  seven 
years  into  the  very  center  of  the  best  life 
in  New  York  is  rather  good  work.  And 
truly,  I  don't  mean  to  flatter  you,  but  you  do 
things  very  well.  It  would  be  hardly  possi- 

219 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ble  to  distinguish  you  from  a  born  New 
Yorker  of  the  upper  classes."  She  laid  her 
long  white  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  smiled.  He  was  pleased  at  what  she 
had  said.  "It  would  be  hardly  possible,"  he 
repeated.  "What  makes  it  possible  at  all?" 

*  *  I  am  afraid  you  will  mind  if  I  tell  you  ? ' ' 
* '  Mind  from  you  ?    Of  course  not.    I  should 

mind  if  you  didn't  tell  me.  And  you  will,  if 
you  are  my  friend." 

*  *  Your  friend — ah,  Paul,  I  think  you  know 
that.    If  I  were  you,  then — and  this  is  an 
odd  thing  to  say,  something  one  could  say 
to  very  few — I  shouldn't  dress  quite  so  well. 
You're  too  perfect  about  your  clothes.     It 
gives  an  impression  of  perhaps  a  little  lack 
of  ease.    Go  to  an  older  man's  tailor,  or  else 
insist    on   yours    dressing   you    six    months 
glower  than  he  does.    You're  always  at  the 
very  forefront  of  the  fashions.     You  don't 
mind  my  saying  that,  dear  ? ' ' 

"Mind — of  course  not.  What  else  is 
wrong?  Let's  hear." 

"We-ell,  I  can't  think  just  now.    Perhaps 

I'd  drop  my  voice  just  the  least  weeniest  little 

bit  in  talking.    Now  I  suppose  you  hate  me, 

for  being  so  nasty,  but  I  don't  hate  you, 

220 


Pageantry   Resplendent 

Paul.  I  love  you.  Do  you  know  you're  the 
best  looking  man  I  ever  knew?  I  oughtn't 
to  tell  you  such  things.  I'll  spoil  you.  Per 
haps  it's  too  late  not  to,  now,  though,"  she 
sighed.  "Oh-he,  I'm  afraid  I  have  spoiled 
you  already.  I  have  made  it  all  too  plain  to 
you,  dearest.  All  too  plain."  She  put  her 
arm  about  his  neck  and  drew  his  cheek  to 
hers.  So  sitting,  wordless,  they  watched  the 
embers. 


221 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE  BETEOTHAL 

When,  eleven  years  before,  Dick  Evers 
married  tall,  slender,  big-eyed  Muriel  Dever- 
eux,  lie  loved  her.  But  life  was  so  easy  for 
them  that  they  drifted  apart.  A  world 
existed  to  serve  each  of  them,  and  so  there 
was  little  reason  for  them  to  serve  each 
other.  They  were  not  helpmeets.  She  did 
not  aid  him  in  his  Wall  Street  croupier 
operations;  he  did  not  aid  her  to  choose 
dresses,  diamonds  or  dinner  guests.  They 
had  one  child,  and  hired  trained  nurses,  gov 
ernesses,  tutors  and  boarding  schools  to  rear 
him.  They  had  no  common  worries,  no  com 
mon  sorrows,  no  common  troubles.  So  when 
passion  wore  out  for  Dick,  there  was  noth 
ing  left,  not  even  companionship.  They 
seldom  saw  each  other  except  in  the  presence 
of  other  fashionable  folk.  He  turned  to 

222 


The  Betrothal 

other  women  and  she  to  other  men,  and  each 
consented  to  the  arrangement. 

Under  his  uncomplaining  eyes,  she  had 
encouraged  serious  attentions  from  a  score 
of  admirers.  None  of  her  flirtations  had 
seemed  to  ruffle  him  until  her  present  affair 
with  Paul.  Now  for  the  first  time  that 
jealousy  which,  to  have  been  effectual,  should 
have  showed  itself  long  before,  began  to 
manifest  itself.  Dick  even  went  so  far  as 
to  complain  directly  to  his  wife  about  Potter. 
She  looked  at  him  in  amazement  and  laughed. 
But  secretly  she  was  flattered.  "Why, 
Richard, ' '  she  said,  '  *  I  thought  you  were  far 
beyond  caring  what  I  did.  You  haven't  been 
evincing  any  particular  interest  in  my  move 
ments,  or  in  my  friends,  for  several  years 
past." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  what  you  do  that  I  care  so 
much  about,  as  it  is  him.  I  can't  stand  that 
man  Potter.  He  is  a  western  bounder  and  a 
climber,  and  I  don't  want  the  woman  who 
bears  my  name  to  be  seen  so  much  with  him. 
If  you  must  amuse  yourself,  why  don't  you 
get  a  decent  chap,  one  of  your  own  class  to 
play  with?  He  is  distinctly  infra  dig." 

She  was  chilled  and  answered  indifferently, 
223 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

*  'My  dear  Richard,  you  have  chosen  friends 
who  would,  if  they  were  admitted,  make  a  far 
less  presentable  appearance  in  society  than 
Mr.  Potter.  But  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have 
ever  complained.  I  am  quite  capable  of 
choosing  my  own  friends  and  of  behaving 
myself  always  in  a  perfectly  discreet  and 
decorous  fashion."  She  turned  her  listless 
eyes  back  to  a  salacity  by  Catulle  Mendes,  in 
the  perusal  of  which  he  had  interrupted  her. 
He  left  the  room,  scowling. 

His  irritation  increased  as  time  went  on 
and  her  latest  flirtation  showed  no  signs  of 
abating.  Finally  he  determined  if  possible  to 
trap  her  in  a  compromising  position.  That 
done,  he  would  hold  the  whip  hand. 

He  fell  back  on  the  plan  of  pretending  to 
leave  town,  and  of  suddenly  appearing  before 
an  unexpecting  wife.  The  deception  was 
successful,  not  because  Muriel  supposed  he 
had  gone  to  Philadelphia,  but  because  she 
believed  he  was  spending  the  night  in  the 
apartment  of  his  mistress  in  New  York. 

But  with  his  valet  for  scout,  Dick  made 
his  way  unobserved  by  the  other  servants, 
to  his  bedroom,  while  his  wife  was  at  the 
opera.  He  had  remained  there  quietly  behind 

254 


The   Betrothal 

locked  doors  during  the  noisy  supper  party, 
waiting  until  the  last  guests  were  gone. 

Then  he  stood  by  his  darkened  front  win 
dow  and  looked  down.  Soon  his  patience 
was  rewarded,  for  he  saw  the  tall,  high- 
hatted  figure  of  a  man,  after  a  quick  look  up 
and  down  the  street,  hurry  up  the  front  steps 
and  disappear  into  the  blackness  of  the 
vestibule  below. 

Evers  bided  his  time.  Then  very  quietly 
he  began  to  reconnoitre.  A  glance  into  his 
wife's  bedroom  showed  him  its  emptiness. 
"Blank  covert,"  he  muttered,  "but  we'll  find 
yet." 

A  thin  line  of  light  visible  under  the  door 
of  the  morning  room  warned  him  to  extreme 
caution.  He  tiptoed  down  the  hall  and  placed 
his  ear  to  the  keyhole.  Two  voices,  one  a 
woman's,  the  other  a  man's  were  audible, 
but  the  words  were  indistingushable.  Finally 
the  voices  ceased  altogether.  He  paused  a 
minute,  then  very  softly,  very  quietly,  he 
turned  the  knob.  Slowly  and  quite  noise 
lessly  he  pushed  open  the  door. 

Across  the  room  he  saw  his  wife  and  the 
other  man,  their  backs  to  him,  sitting  closely 
side  by  side  and  cheek  to  cheek,  looking 

225 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

silently  into  the  fire.  Her  bare  white  arm 
was  about  the  other  man's  neck.  Full  thirty 
seconds  Dick  stood  there  staring. 

Poisonous  hatred  for  both  of  them  scorched 
his  soul.  He  took  a  step  toward  the  table 
by  the  door  where  stood  the  whisky,  ice, 
siphon  water,  Apollinaris.  Turning  his  back 
to  the  fireplace  where  the  two  sat,  he 
cautiously  dribbled  a  little  whiskey  into  a 
tumbler,  then  suddenly  shot  it  full  of  the 
charged  and  sizzling  siphon  water. 

The  sudden  gushing  noise  shocked  the  two 
dreamers  wide  awake.  The  woman  quickly 
turned  her  head  to  see  her  husband,  his  back 
to  her,  mixing  a  drink.  In  a  flash  she  felt 
that  he  had  not  seen,  and  most  casually  she 
spoke  to  him.  "Why,  hello,  Dick.  I  thought 
you  were  in  Philadelphia.  Mr.  Potter  has 
just  brought  me  back  my  diamond  star  which 
I  dropped  at  the  opera  tonight.  Wasn't  it 
lucky  he  found  it  ? " 

"Which  star?"  said  Evers.  "How-do, 
Potter." 

"This   one,"   said   Muriel,  pointing  to  a 

bit  of  jewelry  which  glittered  in  her  green 

bodice.    "The  one  you  gave  me  on  our  tenth 

anniversary.     I  should  have  been  sorry  to 

226 


The  Betrothal 

lose  it.  Queer  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  old 
bear,  I  really  have  a  little  sentiment  about 
it." 

Paul  had  been  living  very  rapidly  during 
the  last  few  seconds.  Emotions  of  dominat 
ing  force  and  violence  surged  through  him. 
Why,  why,  why  had  he  not  heeded  his  early 
training  and  vouchsafed  implicit  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  God  and  man?  Why  had 
Muriel  Evers  let  him  in  for  such  a  thing? 
She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  ought 
at  least  to  know  the  movements  of  her  own 
husband.  If  he  ever  got  out  of  this,  he  would 
out  of  very  gratitude  behave  himself  for- 
evermore. 

Under  the  woman's  skillful  creation,  the 
story  of  the  lost  diamond  star  grew  more  and 
more  plausible.  She  had  first  missed  it  at 
supper,  and  Paul  had  kindly  volunteered  to 
go  at  once  in  search  of  it.  It  was  not  in  the 
brougham.  Paul  then  had  gone  back  to  the 
opera  house,  and  had  given  ten  dollars  to 
the  watchman  to  gain  admittance.  Only 
after  removing  the  linen  cover  from  the  chair 
in  which  Muriel  had  been  sitting  during 
Die  Valkyrie — it  was  a  wonder,  wasn't  it, 
that  one  of  the  caretakers  had  not  found  and 

227 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

kept  it? — had  he  discovered  the  missing  jewel 
tightly  wedged  between  the  cushions.  So  he 
had  at  once  returned  with  it  to  the  house. 

Through  a]l  her  story  Paul  had  kept 
silence,  lest  his  interruption  should  confuse 
the  free  flow  of  her  imagination.  And  as 
Dick  seemed  readily  enough  to  accept  the 
explanation  a  sense  of  beatific  relief  washed 
up  about  Paul's  soul.  She  was  a  wonderful 
woman,  and  wonderfully  had  she  met  this 
crisis  for  him. 

When  her  tale  was  all  told,  Muriel  said, 
"And  so  I  think  we  both  owe  Mr.  Potter  a 
great  deal  of  thanks  for  what  he  has  done 
for  us  tonight,  don't  you,  Dick?" 

The  suave  note  dropped  suddenly  out  of 
Dick's  voice.     Instead,    a   deathly,    scoriant 
sneer  entered  in.    "Yes,"  said  he,  "we — I— 
owe  him  a  great  deal  for  what  he  has  done 
for  me  tonight." 

The  vocal  change  was  enough.  Words 
were  not  necessary.  Comfort  surged  away 
from  Paul's  soul,  leaving  behind  it  the  gray 
and  hideous  slime-flats  of  despair.  The 
woman  went  paler,  but  spoke  serenely,  with 
raised  eyebrows. 

"Ah,  you  saw?" 

228 


The  Betrothal 

i  l  Yes,  I  saw.  I  stood  here  for  five  minutes 
before  you  heard  me.  Yes,  I  saw." 

"Then  why  did  you  lead  me  on  to  He  to 
you  ? ' '  she  asked  querulously,  like  a  complain 
ing  child.  "You  have  always  done  that, 
always  led  me  on  to  lie,  whenever  you  could. 
What  did  you  do  it  for!" 

"I  wasn't  trying  to  make  you  lie.  I  knew 
you  could  do  it.  I  merely  wanted  to  see  what 
kind  of  a  chap  this  is  you've  mixed  yourself 
up  with.  He  doesn  't  seem  to  amount  to  much. 
He  left  the  whole  burden  for  you  to  carry." 

Potter  took  a  threatening  step  toward 
Evers.  But  that  gentleman  spoke  most 
coolly!  "Calm  yourself,  my  young  friend, 
or  I'll  touch  this  pretty  little  button  in  the 
wall  and  have  you  thrown  out  in  the  street 
by  the  servants.  My  valet  is  waiting  up,  just 
in  case  I  should  ring.  You  see  I  came  pre 
pared.  And  it  would  leave  my  poor  wife  in 
a  mess,  if  my  servants  should  throw  you  out 
of  my  house  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Wouldn't  it,  Potter?" 

1 '  Evidently  there  is  only  one  thing  to  do, ' ' 
said  Muriel  meditatively,  "and  that  is  for 
us  to  get  a  divorce,  Dick,  as  soon  and  as 
quietly  as  possible." 

229 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"Evidently.  Of  course  your  idea  is  to 
marry  Potter.  Well,  do  it.  That  is  about  all 
the  harm  I  can  wish  you.  That  will  square 
me  with  you." 

''And  now,  Potter,  let  me  know  your 
plans,"  continued  Dick  in  his  machete  voice. 
"Will  you  marry  Mrs.  Evers  after  the 
divorce?" 

"Assuredly,  if  she  will  accept  me,"  Paul 
answered  quickly. 

"Ah,  then,  I'll  proced  to  get  square  with 
you.  You  are  not  by  any  manner  of  means 
her  first  lover.  Oh,  I  came  prepared.  Here 
are  three  letters  that  were  written  to  my  wife 
within  five  years  by  three  different  men. 
She  never  knew  until  this  moment  that  I  had 
them.  I  saved  them.  Bead  these  letters, 
one  from  a  boy,  one  from  a  man, 
one  from  a  grandfather,  and  put  any 
other  but  one  construction  on  them  if 
you  can."  Dick  held  out  three  letters 
to  Paul,  who  advanced  to  receive  them. 

With  terror  in  her  eyes,  Muriel  moaned, 
"Oh  Paul,  don't,  don't;  it  will  kill  me  if  you 
do." 

But  Paul,  his  eyes  glittering,  his  nostrils 
wide,  his  body  atremble,  as  if  he  awaited  the 
230 


The  Betrothal 

referee's  whistle  for  the  kickoff  in  the  Har 
vard  game,  held  out  his  hands  toward  the 
other  man  for  the  letters.  Evers  smiled  in 
happiness.  He  was  wrecking  the  future  life 
of  the  other  two,  even  before  it  had  begun. 
He  was  getting  square. 

The  athlete's  hand  suddenly  shot  to  the 
other's  wrist.  A  sudden  twist,  and  Paul 
forced  his  enemy,  gulping  with  pain,  to  walk, 
bent  over,  toward  the  fire  place.  * '  Put  those 
letters  in,"  said  the  captor.  "Put  them  in, 
or — "  a  torturing  twist  of  the  wrist  com 
pleted  the  sentence.  The  old  love-letters  fell 
upon  the  flames. 

* i  Now, ' '  said  Paul,  * '  I  am  between  you  and 
the  pretty  little  bell  that  your  valet  is  waiting 
for  and  I'll  thank  you  to  keep  a  civil  tongue 
in  your  head  from  now  on,  both  to  her  and 
to  me.  If  you  don't — I'll  man-handle  you.  I 
guess  you  know  I  can  do  it. ' ' 

Evers,  middle  aged  and  fat,  gasped 
furiously.  * '  Yes,  I  know  you  can  do  it.  And 
you  know  just  about  what  was  in  those  let 
ters  that  are  burning  now  in  the  grate.  Long 
after  the  twist  you've  given  my  wrist  stops 
hurting,  the  twist  I've  given  your  soul  with 
the  sight  of  those  three  letters,  written  by 

231 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

three  different  men  in  the  space  of  five  short 
years,  will  torture  you.  You  will  never  be 
sure  of  her.  You  will  start  three  on  your 
honeymoon,  you,  she  and  Suspicion — 

"Shut  up,"  interrupted  Paul  savagely, 
giving  another  wrench  to  Evers'  wrist. 

"Take  your  hands  off  me,  or,  by  God, 
there'll  be  no  quiet  and  quick  divorce  as 
Muriel  has  so  glibly  assumed.  I'll  name  you, 
if  it's  the  last  thing  on  earth  I  do." 

Paul  looked  for  direction  to  the  woman, 
who  still  sat  limp  in  the  chair  in  which  she 
had  been  discovered.  She  nodded  to  him, 
and  he  released  Evers. 

"Now,"  she  said  quietly,  "it  is  time  for 
you  two  men  to  stop  acting  like  children. 
There  will  be  a  quiet  and  quick  divorce,  with 
out  the  least  fuss  or  scandal." 

"Ho,  really?  What  makes  you  think  so?" 
exclaimed  Dick. 

"Keep  your  temper,  and  don't  shout," 
she  said  sweetly.  "There  will  be  decency  in 
this  matter  because  I  can  compel  it.  In  a 
calmer  moment,  Richard,  you  will  see  that 
it  would  do  you  no  good  to  throw  mud  at 
me,  knowing  that  in  consequence  you  would 
quickly  be  plastered  all  over  with  it  your- 
232 


'•   ITT   THOSK    I.KTTKRS    IN,    I'UT  TIIKM    IN,  OR  — 


The  Betrothal 

self.  If  you  act  in  a  nasty  way,  I  shall  bring 
in  Helen  Alaire." 

"Helen  Alaire,"  Dick  laughed.  "Why 
that's  absurd." 

"Not  half  so  absurd  as  you'd  have  me 
think.  I  know  all  about  that  house  party 
the  Alaires  gave  in  the  Adirondacks  winter 
before  last." 

"Rot,"  growled  Dick. 

"No,  not  rot,  Dick  Evers,  and  you  know 
it.  Furthermore,  you  know  that  Jim  Ellis 
means  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  she  gets  her 
divorce,  and  that  if  such  things  as  I  can 
prove,  prove  mind  you,  come  out,  it  will 
finish  you  with  Jim  and  the  entire  Ellis 
family.  I  don't  fancy  you  will  let  that  con 
nection  go,  for  the  sake  of  a  little  personal 
revenge  on  a  woman  you  have  long  ceased  to 
care  for.  N'est  ce  pas?" 

Evers  lit  a  cigarette  and  paced  slowly  up 
and  down  the  room,  rubbing  his  injured 
wrist,  while  Paul  kept  carefully  near  the  bell. 
Finally  the  husband  agreed,  "All  right — 
South  Dakota  for  you,  and  no  gossip.  But 
I'll  give  you,  Muriel,  just  one  more  bit  of 
information.  You  thought  this  fellow  had  an 
income  of  fifty  or  sixty  thousand;  well,  he 

233 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

hasn't.  He  hasn't  over  thirty-five  at  the 
outside.  You'll  find  that  rather  a  comedown. 
You  and  he  have  made  your  bed.  Now  lie 
on  it." 

The  interview  was  at  an  end.  Paul  mum 
bled  that  it  seemed  to  be  time  for  him  to  go. 
He  opened  the  door.  The  woman  hurried 
toward  him  and  shook  hands  with  him,  whis 
pering,  "Good-night,  dear.  Call  me  up  at 
eleven  in  the  morning."  She  turned  a  switch 
in  the  wall  which  lighted  his  way  down  to 
the  front  door,  and  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  watching  him  descend.  When  the  door 
slammed  behind  him,  she  went  to  her  bed 
room  and  undressed,  leaving  her  husband  to 
pace  up  and  down  in  the  morning  room, 
smoking  a  cigarette  and  rubbing  his  sprained 
wrist. 


234 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


THAT  SKEYNE  TRICK 

Paul  and  Muriel  were  married  fifteen 
months  later  and  went  abroad  for  the  sum 
mer.  * '  You  see, ' '  said  she, ' '  with  our  limited 
income,  we  can't  afford  Newport  and  New 
York  both.  So  we  can  go  cheaply  this  sum 
mer,  and  live  decently  next  winter,  in  town. ' ' 
(In  the  divorce  settlement,  the  Evers  town 
house  had  fallen  to  her  share.) 

They  returned  in  November,  and  by  Janu 
ary  she  was  discontented.  "This  is  the 
second  time  this  week  we  have  dined  alone 
together, ' '  she  exclaimed  one  evening  as  they 
sat  in  the  morning  room  over  their  tbffee 
and  cigarettes. 

"Is  it  then  such  a  hardship  to  dine  alone 
with  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  that  of  course,  you  old  bear,  but  it 
shows  we  are  dropping  out  of  things  a  little ; 

235 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

I  hate  the  hypocrisy  of  people  who  veer  off 
as  soon  as  they  see  you  in  misfortune." 

'  *  Mis-f ortune !  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?" 

"Oh,  do  be  sensible,  Paul.  They  know  we 
haven't  very  much  and  so  they  don't  con 
sider  me,  as  I  used  to  be  considered,  as  I 
ought  to  be  considered."  She  spoke 
vehemently. 

"Why,  it  seems  to  me  that  people  have 
not  dropped  us.  We've  been  to  every  house 
in  town,  except  those  of  the  immediate  Evers' 
family — and  the  Elite's." 

"Yes,  the  Elite's.  I  can't  understand  that. 
Editha  Elite  always  used  to  pretend  to  be  a 
friend  of  mine.  I  can  remember  when  she 
was  glad  to  be  seen  with  me.  I  think  it's 
disgusting  the  way  she  is  acting  now.  Espe 
cially  as  she  is  so  saccharine  whenever  I  see 
her  anywhere. ' ' 

"Then,"  consoled  the  man,  "if  they  are 
the  only  places  we  don't  go,  I  can't  see  why 
you  have  such  a  hard-luck  story.  Most 
everybody  has  a  few  places  they  are  not 
invited  to." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Muriel  impatiently,  "you 
don't  understand  at  all  Of  course  we  are 
236 


That  Skeyne   Trick 

asked  to  places.  I'm  not  a  blackamoor,  and 
I  should  expect  to  be  asked.  But  the  whole 
tone,  the  whole  color  of  things  is 
terribly  different.  You  see,  there  are 
half  a  dozen  women  who  really  are 
the  leaders  in  New  York,  who  decide 
everything — who  is  to  be  admitted,  who  is 
to  be  dropped,  in  fact  everything.  Until  this 
winter,  I  was  an  intimate  friend  of  those 
women.  They  used  to  consult  me,  and  have 
me  to  small  luncheons  and  ask  me  to  find  out 
things  for  them.  I  was  behind  the  scenes. 
Now  I  am  not  at  the  heart  of  affairs,  as  I 
used  to  be.  Things  suddenly  happen  that 
I  never  have  any  inkling  of,  until  everybody 
else  knows  it.  And  I  can  assure  you,  mon 
ami,  that  that  is  not  pleasant." 

"You're  blue,"  said  Paul  kindly,  putting 
his  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  "Come,  dear, 
cheer  up." 

She  quickly  shrugged  her  shoulders,  shak 
ing  his  hand  off.  "And  Anita  has  behaved 
very  badly  for  a  sister,  I  must  say.  She 
could  do  a  great  deal  more  for  me  than  she 
does.  She's  been  quarrelsome  ever  since  I 
told  her  I  was  going  to  marry  you." 

"Why?"  said  he  shortly. 
237 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"You  might  imagine.  She  said  as  long  as 
the  divorce  had  been  quietly  accomplished 
without  talk,  there  was  no  need  of  marrying; 
and  that  you  weren't  a  member  of  a  strong 
New  York  family,  which  is  certainly  true; 
and  that  you  wouldn't  have  enough  money 
for  us  to  keep  up  my  old  position.  And  when 
I  wasn't  persuaded,  she  said  she  would  wash 
her  hands  of  me  and  we  didn't  speak  for  a 
long  time." 

She  paused,  then  went  on,  "Still,  dear, 
don't  think  I  mean  to  reproach  you,  for  I 
don't." 

"Reproach  me,"  he  burst  out  angrily.  "I 
should  say  not.  Why  in  the  devil  should  you 
reproach  me?  Haven't  I  been  working  hard 
and  giving  you  every  cent  I  make!  I  sold 
my  string  of  ponies  in  order  to  save  the 
money,  and  you've  already  blown  in  what 
would  have  given  me  a  season's  polo  on  one 
dance." 

"We  must  keep  up  our  position,  Paul. 
You'd  be  the  first  one  to  complain  if  I  didn't 
see  to  that." 

"Yes,  and  you  say  that  you  aren't  keep 
ing  it  up,  even  so,"  he  retorted. 

"I  can't  on  the  money  we  have.  You'll 
238 


That  Skeyne   Trick 

have  to  make  more  if  you  want  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Paul  Potter  to  have  as  strong  a  position  as 
belonged  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Evers. 
Dick  had  an  income  of  over  two  hundred 
thousand.  You  have — just  how  much!"  she 
drawled. 

"Perhaps  fifty  thousand  this  year — if  this 
good  market  continues.  But  we  can't  spend 
our  summers  abroad  if  you  expect  me  to 
accomplish  anything.  I  can't  make  money 
at  the  end  of  a  cable  wire.  It's  only  the 
big  fellows  can  do  that." 

"Fifty  thousand  dollars — and  I  have  of 
my  own  only  enough  to  dress  on.  What  does 
that  amount  to  nowadays  ? ' ' 

"Oh,"  said  Paul  sarcastically,  "we  ought 
with  good  management  to  keep  the  wolf  from 
the  door." 

"I  have  always  aspired  to  something  a 
little  better  than  keeping  the  wolf  from  the 
door.  Think  of  Anita.  She  will  have  two  or 
three  millions  a  year  some  day;  and  Kath- 
erine  Ellis  will  have  three  or  four.  Why 
they  spend  more  every  year  on  jewels  alone 
than  we  get  altogether." 

"I'm  sorry;  can't  help  it,"  said  Paul  light- 


239 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ing  a  cigar  and  turning  to  the  financial 
pages  of  his  evening  paper. 

But  the  woman  was  not  to  be  swerved. 
''Paul,  dear,  can't  you  possibly  make  more 
than  fifty  thousand  this  year?  Can't  you 
make  a  hundred?  We  need  it  so  terribly. 
There  are  so  many  things  we  simply  have 
to  have.  We  ought  to  have  at  least  one  more 
motor,  another  chauffeur  and  a  helper." 

1  'What  rot,  Muriel,"  he  ejaculated,  "That 
would  take  up  about  thirty  thousand  the  first 
year.  What  do  you  want  of  another 
machine?  I  think  you  might  get  along  with 
the  one  we  have.  It's  a  good  one,  this  year's 
model." 

*  *  Oh,  really, ' '  said  Muriel, ' '  a  well  equipped 
garage  is  necessary.  It  would  be  almost 
wiser  to  affect  eccentricity  and  have  no  motor 
at  all,  than  only  one." 

"Yes,"  responded  Paul,  grimly,  "and  I 
suppose  you'd  like  me  to  get  you  a  nice 
yacht.  Only  a  quarter  of  a  million  a  year. 
And  a  villa  in  Newport — half  a  million,  and 
a  couple  of  country  places  and  a  few  shoot 
ing  boxes.  Why,  damn  it,  you  must  be  going 
clean  out  of  your  mind  to  talk  as  you  do." 

"Of  course,  dear,  I  know  we  can't  have 
240 


That  Skeyne  Trick 

such  things  now.  But  I  have  ambition,  I 
should  certainly  look  forward  to  having  what 
other  people  have  some  day.  You  are  clever. 
Why  shouldn't  you  do  as  well  in  business  as 
other  men?  I  shouldn't  think  you  would 
care  to  acknowledge,  even  to  yourself,  that 
you  can't.'* 

"But  what's  the  end  of  it  all?  What's  the 
use  ? ' '  Paul  threw  his  cigar  viciously  into  the 
grate  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down.  * '  This 
insatiate  cry  of  yours  for  more,  more,  can 
never  be  gratified.  .The  men  who've  grown 
really  rich,  saved  when  they  were  young. 
They  didn't  live  beyond  their  income  from 
their  very  wedding  day,  as  we  've  been  doing. 
And  there  seems  no  hope,  no  prospect  of  a 
let-up.  My  business  has  been  growing.  I've 
been  doing  better  every  year.  I've  made 
stronger  connections.  But  it  seems  that  no 
matter  how  well  I  do,  you  will  always  keep  a 
little  ahead  of  me,  always  spend  a  little  more 
than  we  have.  If  the  income  doubles  next 
year,  the  outgo  will  double.  The  whole  thing 
is  foolish,  ridiculous.  Why  pretend  that  we 
have  more  than  we  have  and  try  to  live  like 
people  who  have  ten  times  as  much?" 

His  voice  shot  up  an  octave.  *  *  Only  let  me 
241 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

catch  up,"  he  pleaded,  "let  me  get  even,  or 
some  day,  sure,  there'll  be  an  awful  smash. 
I  am  done  up  now.  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  go 
to  a  rest  cure  and  give  my  nerves  a  chance  to 
fatten  up  again.  They're  all  frazzled  out, 
and  worn  to  loose  ends." 

"You  must  take  care  of  yourself,  Paul, 
dear,"  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder 
caressingly.  "We  can't  afford  to  have  you 
break  down.  Go  to  bed  early  and  get  plenty 
of  sleep  and  exercise.  I  should  never  for 
give  myself  if  anything  happened  to  you." 

"Plenty  of  sleep  and  exercise,"  he  broke 
in.  "Ha,  that's  a  good  one.  What  chance 
do  I  get  for  sleep  when  it's  staying  up  till 
all  hours  and  guzzling  at  fool  musicales  and 
dances  and  dinners  and  Punch  and  Judy 
shows  every  night  and  getting  up  early  every 
morning  and  going  down  to  Wall  Street  and 
hustling  and  fighting  and  scheming  in  order 
to  scratch  together  another  wad  for  you  to 
burn  up?  You  get  your  sleep,  all  right.  You 
stay  in  bed  till  noon.  But  where  does  my 
chance  for  sleep  come  in?' 

"But,  dear,  we  must  keep  up  our  position 
— especially  this  year,  when  people  are  hesi 
tating  about  us.  This  year  is  the  critical 
213 


That  Skeyne   Trick 

one.  We've  simply  got  to  keep  a  stiff  upper 
lip.  If  they  saw  us  weakening,  they'd  be  on 
our  backs  like  a — " 

' '  Like  the  pack  of  wolves  they  are, ' '  inter 
rupted  he.  "Well,  let  'em." 

"No,  I  have  too  much  pride  for  that.  I 
cannot  bear,  whatever  happens,  to  relinquish 
the  position  I  have  always  held  in  New  York, 
and  slip  backward. ' ' 

' '  The  only  position  you  ever  had  was  that 
of  a  spender — and  it's  a  cinch  you  can't  be 
as  big  a  spender  when  you're  married  to  a 
fifty  thousand  dollar  a  year  man  as  when 
you  were  married  to  a  two  hundred  thousand 
dollar  a  year  man."  Paul's  lip  trembled. 
He  seemed  on  the  verge  of  hysteria.  "I 
can't  help  not  having  more,  but  I  haven't. 
You've  got  to  cut  your  coat  according  to 
your  cloth.  Honestly, ' '  his  voice  broke,  ' '  you 
make  me  so  damned  nervous  sometimes, 
Muriel,  with  your  eternal  talk  about  position. 
Position — oh,  to  hell  with  position." 

"Don't  swear,  Paul.  Try  to  remember 
that  you  have  become  a  gentleman  and  that 
you  are  married  to  a  lady,"  she  purred. 

* '  Yes,  a  lady  who  carried  on  three  separate 
sets  of  love  correspondence  with  three  dif- 

243 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ferent  men,  one  a  boy  and  one  a  grand 
father,  within  five  years."  He  had  lost 
control  of  himself.  It  was  the  first  quarrel 
of  their  married  life,  and  its  violence  atoned 
for  its  delay. 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
attempted  to  kiss  him,  but  he  drew  away. 
"Dearest,"  she  said,  "don't  let  us  quarrel. 
Please  don't.  We  must  be  everything  to 
each  other  after  what  we  have  gone  through 
for  each  other." 

"Pin  going  to  the  club,"  said  Paul  loosen 
ing  her  arms.  "I  have  my  key.  Don't  wait 
up  for  me." 

When  she  heard  the  street  door  shut 
behind  him,  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  wept.  "Everything  is  against 
me,"  she  moaned,  "everything  crumbles  to 
pieces  under  my  touch.  I  only  want  to  be 
happy,  happy.  I  want  so  much  to  be  happy ; 
and  I  cannot." 

The  tears  of  self  pity  trickled  from  her 
eyes  through  her  fingers,  wetting  the  rubies 
and  diamonds  of  her  rings,  and  falling  drop 
by  drop  on  the  pale  amber  colored  satin  of 
her  gown. 

Lassie  Ellis  was  sprawling  his  bulk  in  a 
244 


That  Skeyne   Trick 

red  leather  arm  chair  in  the  club,  slowly 
turning  the  leaves  of  an  English  weekly 
devoted  to  music  halls  and  the  turf,  when 
Paul  entered. 

He  let  the  paper  slip  between  his  knees 
to  the  floor,  and  half  straightened  himself  in 
his  easy  chair.  "Hello,  son,"  he  said. 

" Hello,  what's  doing?" 

"Nothing  much.    Have  a  drink?" 

Paul  nodded.  They  went  into  the  cafe  and 
Lassie's  heavy  thumb  pushed  down  the  elec 
tric  button.  When  their  orders  had  been 
taken  he  said,  "Want  to  play  some  bridge 
tonight?" 

"Yes,  I'm  bored  as  can  be.  Let's  go  up 
now  and  cut  into  a  game." 

"I  don't  mean  here,  but  at  the  flat.  I'll 
telephone  Bessie  to  get  someone  to  make  up 
four." 

"Boy,"  said  he  to  the  middle-aged  man  in 
brass  buttons,  who  was  standing  apart  at  a 
respectful  distance  awaiting  the  further 
pleasure  of  the  two  gentlemen,  "Get  me 
double  sixteen  Grand  Central  on  the  wire." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  boy,"  added  Paul,  "bring  two 
more. ' ' 

245 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

44 Yes,  sir." 

When  Lassie  returned  from  the  telephone 
booth,  he  was  smiling.  "It's  all  right,"  said 
he,  "Bessie  has  a  nice  little  girl  spending  the 
evening  with  her,  so  we  might  as  well  be 
going  now."  He  drained  his  glass  in  two 
gulps  without  troubling  to  sit  down,  then 
called,  "Cab,  boy,"  and  made  for  the  cloak 
room,  Paul  following. 

As  the  two  big  men  stood  in  the  hall  wait 
ing  for  their  overcoats,  it  could  be  seen  that 
something  of  the  grace  of  body  of  their  row 
ing  days  had  departed  from  them.  Ellis, 
although  he  was  an  even  six  feet,  did  not 
seem  to  be  tall  because  of  the  great  width  of 
his  shoulders,  his  waist,  his  hips  and  the 
thickness  of  his  arms  and  neck  and  legs.  His 
face  was  round  and  stolid,  unmarked  by  lines 
of  thought  and  care. 

Paul's  face  was  sharp  and  thin  and  sallow, 
but  the  outlines  of  a  figure  which  in  his  youth 
had  been  nearly  perfect  in  its  clean  symmetry, 
were  now  a  trifle  blurred  by  a  pad  of  soft 
overlying  fat  flesh. 

The  son  of  Harvey  Ellis  covered  his  black 
broadcloth  with  a  mighty  garment  of  Russian 
sable,  made  of  the  skins  of  many  little  Sibe- 
246 


That  Skeyne   Trick 

rian  animals,  and  costing  twenty  times  as 
much  as  the  long,  mink-lined  overcoat  which 
Paul  sighing,  donned.  The  sigh  was  not 
because  the  mink  coat  was  less  warm  or  less 
beautiful  (he  was  not  an  esthete),  but  be 
cause,  being  so  very  much  less  expensive, 
it  marked  the  inferiority  of  his  own  status  to 
the  status  of  his  friend. 

"I  don't  know  about  your  arrangement," 
began  Paul  interrogatively  when  the  hansom 
had  turned  north  on  Fifth  avenue. 

"Oh — Bessie  Devens  is  a  girl  I've  known 
for  a  couple  of  months.  She's  a  good  fellow, 
and  always  drives  away  the  blues." 

"She's  your  girl,  you  mean." 

"Yes,  you  see,"  explained  Lassie,  "she  is 
so  cheerful — such  a  damned  good  fellow. 
Men  are  natural  polygamists,  anyhow,  I 
guess;  and  it  isn't  virtue  so  much  as  want  of 
the  price  which  keeps  most  of  the  straight 
ones  straight." 

"  I  'm  not  sure  you  're  not  right, ' '  acquiesced 
Paul. 

Miss  Bessie  Devens  was  a  prepossessing 
young  woman,  with  the  whitest  teeth  in  the 
world.  She  smiled  a  great  deal. 

She  presented  Miss  Skeyne,  a  pert,  little, 
247 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

laughing,  chattering,  red-headed  girl  to  Paul; 
and  the  four  sat  down  to  bridge. 

A  tall,  silent,  lantern  jawed  Englishman 
placed  a  decanter  of  Scotch  whiskey,  cracked 
ice,  soda-water  bottles,  and  a  silver  box  of 
cigarettes  on  a  little  table  convenient  to  the 
reach  of  the  two  men.  The  Misses  Skeyne 
and  Devens  played  remarkably  good  bridge; 
and  it  was  not  until  two  o'clock  that  the  last 
rubber  was  finished." 

Paul  walked  home,  his  wide  Persian  lamb 
collar  turned  up  about  his  ears,  a  cigarette 
dangling  from  his  lips.  The  Scotch  whiskey 
in  his  veins,  suffused  him  with  the  feeling 
that  all  was  well  with  the  world;  and  the 
sound  of  his  heels,  striking  the  flagstones  of 
the  sidewalk,  rang  out  cheerily  on  the  frosty, 
still  winter  air. 

He  thought  of  his  wife  and  frowned,  then 
he  thought  of  Miss  Skeyne  and  smiled. 
"Well,  it  turned  out  a  pleasant  evening,  after 
all,"  he  reflected.  "That  Skeyne  trick  was 
certainly  amusing.  I'll  have  to  look  her  up 
again  sometime,"  and  he  fell  to  humming  a 
little  *ong. 


248 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


FATHEKS  AND  CHILDREN 

Carl  Wildmerding  III  walked  slowly  up 
and  down  his  long  library,  his  head  sunk,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him.  Each  time  that 
he  reached  the  east  end  of  the  room,  he 
stopped  momentarily,  as  if  to  peer  through 
the  lace  curtains  at  the  crowded  wheeled 
traffic  of  a  foggy  March  Fifth  avenue.  But 
his  eyes,  if  they  caught  upon  their  retinas 
the  images  of  the  misty  caravan  of  the  seek 
ers  and  ministers  of  pleasure,  telegraphed  to 
his  brain  no  report  thereof.  His  whole  being 
was  concentrated  on  the  detective  agency's 
report  of  his  eldest  son's  disgrace  and  pos 
sible  exposure. 

He  took  a  bible  from  the  bookcase  and  set 
himself  to  memorize  three  verses  from  Prov 
erbs.  When  he  had  them  perfectly,  he 
touched  the  bell  and  directed  the  footman  to 

249 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

show  Mr.  Carl  to  the  library  immediately 
upon  his  arrival. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  Carl 
entered,  smiling.  " Hello,  father,"  he  began, 
but  after  seeing  the  older  man's  drawn  and 
ashen  face  he  quickly  checked  himself. 

"Be  seated,  my  son,"  said  his  father 
sombrely.  I  have  a  grave  matter  to  talk  over 
with  you." 

Terror,  premonitory  terror,  hastened 
through  the  ganglia  of  the  young  man,  leav 
ing  his  body  weak  and  his  soul  afraid.  Inex 
orability  seemed  to  flow  from  his  father 
toward  him,  threatening  to  drown  him. 

His  slender  little  body  sank  limp  and  list 
less  into  an  armchair.  He  moistened  his  lips 
before  he  could  speak.  "Well,  father,"  he 
said,  and  his  voice  trembled  and  pitched  high, 
"what  do  you  want  to  see  me  about?"  But 
he  knew  the  answer  before  it  came  back  to 
him  in  words. 

He  looked  about  the  great  library  ag  if  it 
were  a  new  place.  His  eyes  traced  with  de 
tached  wonder  the  geometrical  designs  in  the 
white  plaster  ceiling,  then  traveled  over  the 
minutely  carved  chimney  piece  relieved  by 
panels.  He  dwelt  for  an  instant  upon  the 
250 


Fathers   and   Children 

Velasquez,  which  hung  over  the  mantlepiece. 
He  did  not  see  how  anybody  could  care  for 
dead  pictures  when  such  a  terrible  living 
thing  as  was  going  to  happen  to  him,  was 
going  to  happen  to  him.  He  looked  at  the 
old  Italian  lamps,  and  wondered  why  the 
footman  did  not  come  in  to  light  them.  It 
was  twilight. 

Far  away  he  heard  his  father's  voice.  "My 
son,  I  realize  that  what  I  am  going  to  ask 
you  to  do  will  probably  make  you  unhappy, 
for  a  short  time  at  least.  But  it  will  be 
better  in  the  long  run.  You  will  see  that 
soon,  yourself,  if  you  cannot  now."  Mr. 
Wildmerding  paused.  "As  perhaps  you 
know,  the  thing  I  wish  to  discuss — concerns  a 
woman. ' ' 

* '  Yes,  father, ' '  said  the  young  man  dully. 

"You — must  give  her  up." 

"But  I  can't,  father." 

The  older  man  was  patient.  "It  will  be 
hard  at  first.  I  can  appreciate  that.  I  shall 
even  acknowledge  that  she  may  be  better 
than  the  general  run  of  her  class.  But,  my 
boy,  remember  what  the  Bible  says,  *  For  the 
lips  of  a  strange  woman  drop  as  an  honey 
comb,  and  her  mouth  is  smoother  than  oil ;  but 

251 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

her  end  is  bitter  as  wormwood  and  sharp  as 
a  two-edged  sword.  Her  feet  go  down  to 
death;  her  steps  take  hold  on  hell.' 

A  tiny  ray  of  hope  penetrated  Carl 's  heart. 
His  father  didn't  understand.  He  thought 
Blanche  was  an  ordinary  wanton,  a  mere 
piece  of  pretty  flesh,  who  joyously  sold  it  for 
ornaments  to  hang  upon  it.  If  his  father 
knew  that  she  was  a  woman,  a  mother,  who 
had  risen  out  of  the  mire  and  who  wanted 
above  all  things  to  stay  clean,  perhaps  he 
would  relent. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "you  don't  understand 
about  this.  She  lives  as  quietly  as  possible. 
I  am  not  hurting  myself  with  her.  She  is 
different  from  these  New  York  women,  the 
kind  that  my  friends  have,  who  live  for 
jewels,  motors,  dresses,  and  late  hours.  She's 
different,  father.  It's  queer  to  say  under 
the  circumstances,  but  she  is  a  thoroughly 
good  influence  in  my  life.  I  get  peace  and 
calm  and  a  new  perspective  at  Wissacon.  I 
can't  give  her  up.  Why  it's  all  in  life  I  live 
for,  all  I  care  for."  He  lowered  his  voice. 
"And  you  know  there  is  a — little  girl,  too." 

"I  know  it  all.  I  have  had  detectives  on 
the  matter.  She  is  better  than  most  of  her 
252 


Fathers  and  Children 

class.  But  that  doesn't  alter  my  decision.  It 
merely  strengthens  it." 

"But  why?"  said  his  son. 

Mr.  Wildmerding  was  losing  a  little  of  his 
kindliness.  "Why?  I  will  tell  you  why.  Be 
cause  it  is  not  decent  for  you  to  be  living  with 
a  woman  not  your  wife,  particularly  in  the 
manner  in  which  you  do  it.  I  am  not  a 
Puritan.  I  understand  temptations  and  the 
ways  of  the  world.  But  you  are  not  decent 
about  it.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think 
that  you  could  not  observe  your  marriage 
vows,  strictly  and  to  the  letter,  but  never 
theless,  if  you  feel  you  must  amuse  yourself, 
do  it  like  a  gentleman,  instead  of  like  a 
common,  little,  bourgeois  French  shop 
keeper." 

"Please  explain  what  you  mean  by  that  >3 
demanded  Carl. 

"I  will  explain,  and  in  a  few  words.  If 
a  gentleman  chooses  to  indulge  himself,  he 
does  it  like  a  gentleman.  He  finds  some 
pretty  woman  for  his  left  hand,  who  amuses 
him  for  a  while,  and  when  he  is  through,  he 
pays  her  off  and  all  is  done.  But  he  doesn't 
go  out  in  the  country  to  a  love-in-a-cottage 
existence  under  an  assumed  name;  he 

253 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

doesn't  allow  children  to  be  born  to  him 
and  he  doesn't  keep  the  thing  up  for  four 
years,  with  every  apparent  intention  of  keep 
ing  it  up  indefinitely.  That  is  not  worthy  of 
you,  nor  of  any  other  gentleman.  It  shows 
low  tastes  of  which  I  am  ashamed.  And  I 
tell  you,  my  son,"  Mr.  Wildmerding  spoke 
most  decisively,  "it  has  got  to  stop,  and  sto^, 
right  away." 

"But,  father,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  leave 
her.  I  love  her  and  she  has  always  been 
square  with  me." 

"That  makes  it  all  the  worse,"  said  Mr. 
Wildmerding.  "That  is  just  what  I  have 
been  saying.  You  put  yourself  down  on  a 
level  with  her." 

"But  you  ask  me  to  give  up  the  very  best 
in  my  life." 

"Stuff,"  interrupted  the  older  man.  "I 
ask  you  to  give  up  the  worst  and  most 
degrading  thing  in  your  life.  I  am  astounded 
at  your  attitude.  This  matter  is  evidently 
more  serious  even  than  I  supposed." 

"Serious,"  answered  Carl,  his  voice  shak 
ing,  "it  is  the  most  serious  thing  that  ever 
happened  to  me,  or  that  can  happen  to  me. 


254 


Fathers  and  Children 

It  is  practically  divorce  you  ask.  I  feel  as 
a  husband  to  Blanche." 

"Well,  lots  of  people  have  been  divorced 
before,  and  will  be  in  the  future,"  his  father 
answered. 

"Not  when  they  loved  each  other.  There 
would  be  nothing  unnatural  if  Anita  and  I 
were  divorced.  She  doesn't  care  a  bit  for 
me.  She  has  even  told  me  that  she  married 
me  for  money." 

'  *  Pooh !  All  women  say  hard  things  when 
they  are  angry.  She  didn't  mean  it." 

' '  Yes,  she  meant  it, ' '  answered  Carl  stead 
ily.  "And  even  if  she  didn't  mean  it,  I 
don't  care  for  her,  any  more.  I  did  when  I 
married  her,  but  I  stopped.  Certain  things 
happened.  It's  no  use  going  into  them.  But 
I  can  never  care  for  Anita  again,  nor  she 
for  me.  It  all  happened  before  I  met 
Blanche,  so  don't  lay  that  sin  on  her  soul, 
too." 

"There  is  no  use  discussing  the  matter, 
further,"  said  Mr.  Wildmerding  coldly. 
"This  affair  must  be  broken  off  at  once. 
You  are  never  to  see  her  again.  That  is 
final." 

The  young  man  sprang  out  of  his  chair. 
255 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

His  eyes  were  flashing.  He  shook  his  fore 
finger.  "And  what,  if  I  tell  you  that  I 
refuse  to  obey?  I  am  a  grown  man,  thirty- 
two  years  old.  What  if  I  choose  to  govern 
myself  and  my  own  affairs?" 

Carl  Wildmerding  III  was  very  stern  as 
he  said,  "In  that  case,  you  will  never  cross 
my  threshold  again.  Your  brother  Arthur 
will  become  the  head  of  the  house.  He  will 
inherit  the  fortune.  You  will  get  not  one 
cent. ' ' 

"You  gave  me  half  a  million  when  I  was 
twenty-one.  I  could  live  on  that." 

"Yes,  you  could  live  on  it.  But  not  in 
the  way  you  have  been  living.  No  Newport, 
no  Capuan,  no  racehorses,  no  position  either 
in  London  or  here.  You'd  live  and  die  a 
failure,  and  after  a  short  while,  when  you 
had  grown  tired  of  this  strumpet  of  yours, 
and  her  brat,  you'd  be  very  sorry  for  what 
you  had  thrown  away." 

"But  that  is  not  just,"  Carl  pleaded. 
"Arthur  is  the  same.  He's  only  eighteen, 
and  yet  everybody  in  town  knows  he  is  spend 
ing  lots  of  money  on  Eloise  Muret,  that 
French  chanteuse  at  Roster's,  who  is  thirty- 
five  if  she  is  a  day." 

256 


Fathers  and   Children 

''Enough  of  this;  and  shame  for  tattling. 
I  know  all  about  Arthur,  as  well  as  all  about 
you.  I  am  a  careful  father.  He  is  sowing  a 
few  wild  oats,  like  most  other  young  fellows. 
But  his  case  is  not  one-tenth,  not  one-hun 
dredth  as  serious  as  yours.  However,  there 
is  no  more  to  be  said.  Tomorrow  morning 
before  ten  o'clock,  you  may  let  me  know 
whether  you  prefer  that  woman  and  the  half 
million  dollars  which  you  now  have,  or  to 
give  her  up,  lead  a  life  of  decency  and  fill 
the  position  which  I  had  destined  for  you, 
as  head  of  the  House  of  Wildmerding,  with 
a  fortune  of  from  sixty  to  seventy-five 
millions,  and  a  foremost  place  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic.  If  you  care  to  throw  up 
your  inheritance  for  a  rather  cheap — er — 
romance,  be  assured  Arthur  will  not  regret 
it.  That  is  all,  my  boy."  Carl  III  laid  his 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  Carl  IV.  ' '  Consider 
carefully,  and  decide  wisely. ' ' 

The  constant  passage  of  a  phantom  proces 
sion  kept  Carl  from  sleeping  that  night.  He 
saw  Blanche  bending  over  her  tulips  in  the 
early  summer ;  he  saw  his  father,  thin  lipped 
and  relentless,  sitting  in  his  great  library, 
frowning;  he  saw  the  vacuous  face  of  his 

257 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

young  brother  Arthur  mock  him,  then  turn 
away  to  look  level-eyed  and  as  an  equal  into 
the  faces  of  a  Russian  grand  duke  and  a  Ger 
man  princeling;  he  saw  Blanche  dressed  all 
in  black,  like  a  widow,  rocking  a  baby  to  sleep 
in  an  alien  town;  he  saw  Arthur  sitting  stu 
pidly  silent  at  a  Board  meeting  of  the  Direct 
ors  of  the  Southeastern  road;  he  felt  Anita's 
patrician,  scornful  smile  wither  him,  while  be 
side  her  stood  the  shadowy  figure  of  Alaire ; 
he  saw  contemptuous  pity  in  the  faces  of  the 
men  at  the  club.  And  when  he  had  seen  all 
these  things,  the  weary  round  began  again. 
Unceasingly  they  passed  before  him,  hour 
after  hour. 

At  eight,  he  rang  for  his  breakfast.  His 
mind  was  not  made  up.  At  ten  he  knocked 
on  the  door  to  his  father's  study. 

His  father  looked  gravely  at  him.  '  *  What 
is  your  decision,  my  son?" 

"To  do  as  you  ask — God  forgive  me," 
sobbed  Carl. 

"Ah,  my  boy,  my  boy,  I  am  very  happy. 
Come,  everything  will  be  well.  We  shall  take 
a  trip  abroad  on  the  Capuan.  Just  you  and 
I.  The  sea  air  will  do  us  both  good." 

"Whatever  you  say,  father,"  answered 
258 


Fathers  and   Children 

Carl,  breaking.  * '  Nothing  matters  much,  any 
more. ' ' 

"Oh,  we'll  change  all  that.  Now,  a  word 
more  about  this  disagreeable  subject,  and 
then  it  will  be  forgotten  forever  between  us. 
I'll  have  Harrison  draw  up  proper  papers, 
and  go  there  and  have  the  young  woman 
sign  them.  That  will  be  a  release  against  any 
future  action  she  might  bring. ' ' 

"You  don't  know  her,"  said  Carl  in  mono 
tone.  "She  won't  bring  any  action." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,  I  don't  know  her, 
my  dear  boy.  But  still  it's  as  well  to  be  on 
the  safe  side.  Of  course  we'll  make  her  com 
fortable.  Don't  think  I  want  to  injure  her.  I 
bear  her  no  malice. ' ' 

"Why  should  you?"  said  Carl  in  his  death 
like  monotone.  *  *  She  is  the  one  to  bear  mal 
ice.  But  she  won't.  Oh,  you  don't  know  her, 
father — you  don 't  know  her. ' ' 

He  listlessly  fingered  a  paper-weight.  His 
shoulders  seemed  very  bent  that  morning. 
"One  favor — may  I  ask  it?" 

"Certainly." 

"Would  you  not  let  Paul  Potter  take  the 
papers  down  for  her  to  sign  ?  He  knows  her, 
and  would  be  kinder  to  her  than  a  lawyer.  I 

259 


A   Little   Brother  ot  the   Rich 

would  like  him  to  go.  I  want  him — to  say 
good-bye  for  me,  since  you  won't  let  me  do 
even  that  myself."  A  deep  sob  shook  him. 

"Yes,  yes,  he  can  go.  It  is  not  safe  for 
you  to  go ;  that  is  the  only  reason  I  object.  I 
will  send  for  young  Potter  to  come  up  here 
this  afternoon  to  talk  the  matter  over." 


260 


CHAPTER  XXV 


THE  CONSERVATION  OF  A  EAILROAD 

Carl  Wildmerding  III  walked  briskly  up 
and  down  his  long  library,  his  head  thrown 
up.  He  was  happy.  He  had  saved  his  son, 
and  the  salvation  had  come  in  the  way  he  had 
planned  it  to  come. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Wildmerding  very 
cordially  to  Paul,  after  the  footman  had  an 
nounced  him.  * '  I  have  summoned  you  to  ask 
your  assistance  in  a  delicate  and  painful  sit 
uation,  and,  believe  me,  I  shall  consider  my 
self  in  your  debt  if  you  can  give  us  your  best 
thought  and — ah — effort  in  the  matter." 

After  telling  the  story  of  Wissacon  and 
Carl's  promise  to  break  from  his  entangle 
ment,  Mr.  Wildmerding  continued:  "And  it 
is  Carl's  especial  wish  that  you  should  under 
take  the  somewhat  disagreeable  mission  of 
informing  the  young  woman  of  his  unaltera- 

261 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ble  determination  to  sever  all  relations  be 
tween  them.  It  is  important,  Paul,  that  she 
should  understand  the  affair  is  definitely  and 
completely  over,  by  Carl's  own  wish  and 
determination.  Otherwise,  she  might  seek, 
perhaps,  to  entangle  him  again.  Now,  of 
course  I  expect  to  do  the  reasonable  thing. 
It  appears — ah — in  fact,  my  detectives  have 
informed  me  that  she  has  lived  a  quiet  life 
during  the  continuance  of  this  liaison  (though 
I,  out  of  discretion,  did  not  dwell  on  this 
fact  in  my  conversation  with  my  son) ;  and, 
besides,  they  seem  unfortunately  to  have  sup 
plied  an — ah — hostage  to  fortune.  I  do  not 
wish  her  to  suffer  want  in  the  future.  I 
should  even  be  willing  to  settle  as  much  as 
$5,000  a  year  upon  her  for  the  remainder  of 
her  life,  for  a  complete  release;  but — ah — if 
you  could  induce  her  to  consent  to  a  more 
modest  arrangement,  of  course  I  should  be 
glad."  Mr.  Wildmerding  showed  Paul  the 
papers  which  Blanche  was  to  sign,  explaining 
their  intent.  "Remember,"  he  concluded, 
4 '  you  must  be  firm,  very  firm. ' ' 

Paul  took  the  train  for  Wissacon  that  even 
ing,  arriving  shortly  before  supper  at  the 
Chester  house.    Blanche  opened  the  door  for 
262 


The   Conservation   of  a   Railroad 

him.  "Why,  Mr.  Potter,"  she  said,  "this  is 
truly  an  unexpected  pleasure."  When  she 
saw  his  face  in  the  light,  it  frightened  her.  '  *  I 
hope  there  is  no  bad  news — from  Carl — or 
Sylvia?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "bad  news,  I  am  afraid, 
Mrs.  Chester.  And,  believe  me,  I  dislike  ex 
tremely  the  task  of  being  the  bearer  of  evil 
tidings.  But  I " 

"Never  mind  that,"  she  interrupted. 
"What  is  it?  Is  it  Carl?  Oh,  do  tell  me 
quickly. ' ' 

He  disliked  her  habit  of  interrupting.  He 
remembered  that  she  had  been  similarly  ill- 
mannered  when  he  had  visited  the  house  be 
fore.  "Yes,  it  is  Carl.  The  truth  is " 

"Is  he  sick?    Is  he  dead?" 

"No." 

' '  What  then  ?    Why  don 't  you  tell  me  1 " 

"He  has  sent  me  here  to  give  you  a  mes 
sage.  ' ' 

* '  A  message  I ' '  she  gasped.  '  *  Why,  that  is 
strange.  He  never  sent  any  person  here 
with  a  message  before.  What  message  ? ' ' 

The  man  hesitated,  as  an  executioner 
might,  then  the  knife  flashed  down. 

"He  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  all  is  over 
263 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

between  you,  and  that  he  will  never  see  you 
again." 

The  woman  steadied  herself  by  placing  her 
hand  upon  the  corner  of  the  mantelpiece. 
"Oh!"  she  said,  "oh!" 

"It  was  something  he  has  been  thinking 
of  for  a  long  time,"  lied  Paul. 

She  did  not  hear  him.  "But  why?"  she 
said,  "why?" 

"He  did  not  inform  me  as  to  his  reason. 
But  he  was  most  definite  about  it.  He  said 
that  the  liaison  must  terminate,  that  it  must 
come  to  a  final  period." 

"Did  he  call  it  that?"  asked  the  woman. 
"Did  he  call  it— liaison?" 

4 '  I  am  rather  quoting  to  you  the  substance 
of  his  decision  than  the  exact  language  in 
which  he  couched  it.  But  he  is  willing  to 
do  the  fair  thing,  within  reason.  Of  course 
his  father  doesn't  know  about  it,  so  whatever 
settlement  he  makes  must  come  out  of  his 
own  private  income.  Now  what,  Mrs.  Ches 
ter,  would  you  consider  fair  ?  What  are  your 
expenses  here?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  What  does  it  matter? 
Mr.  Potter — for  God's  sake,  tell  me  whyT 


264 


The   Conservation  of  a   Railroad 

There  is  some  horrible  mistake.  There  must 
be.  If  I  could  only  see  him." 

"I  am  afraid  that  is  impossible,"  said 
Paul.  "He  cannot  see  you  again." 

' '  But  it 's  all  a  mistake — all  a  horrible  mis 
take." 

Paul  fortified  himself  with  the  memory  of 
Mr.  Wildmerding's  injunction  to  firmness. 
"  Pardon  me,  ah — Mrs.  Chester.  There  is 
no  mistake.  My  friend,  Carl  Wildmerding, 
knows  exactly  what  he  is  doing.  His  decision 
in  this  matter  is  final  and  irrevocable." 

The  woman  remained  mute  for  a  long  time, 
then  almost  inaudibly  asked,  "Tell  me  one 
thing,  is  there  another  woman?" 

"That  I— ah— that  I  really  do  not  know." 

"Oh,  very  well,  then,"  said  the  woman 
wearily.  "If  that  is  the  case,  that  is  the  case. 
So,  let's  arrange  matters.  What  is  it  you 
want  me  to  sign?" 

"These  papers.  They  release  him  from 
all  future  responsibility  or  obligation,  on  ac 
count  of  his  life  with  you.  Of  course,  as  I 
say,  he  is  willing  to  pay " 

"Oh,  never  mind  rubbing  it  in.  Where  do 
I  sign?  Here?  All  right."  She  wrote  her 
signature,  "  Blanche  Nevins,  sometimes 

265 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

known  as  Blanche  Chester,"  at  the  bottom  of 
each  of  the  triplicate  copies  of  the  release 
papers.  Paul  called  in  the  maidservant  for 
a  witness,  requiring  her  signature  also. 

He  smiled.  "You  are  not  much  of  a  busi 
ness  woman,  I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Chester,"  he 
said,  not  unkindly.  "You  signed  before  the 
consideration  had  been  inserted,  leaving  it 
blank.  It  might  be  filled  in  by  me,  for  in 
stance,  at  a  very  low  figure.  But  of  course 
I  would  not  think  of  doing  such  a  thing. 
Now,  in  view  of  what  you  have  meant  to  him, 
and  in  view  of  your — ah — child,  he  is  anx 
ious  to  do  the  square  thing.  What  do  you 
think  you  should  receive  as  an  annuity? 
What  are  your  present  expenses  ?  You  must 
think  of  your  child,  you  know. ' ' 

"My  expenses  here  are  under  twelve  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year." 

"Then  would  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  settled  on  you  during  your  lifetime, 
strike  you  as  fair?" 

"Yes,"  said  Blanche. 

"Well,  then  it  is  arranged,  on  condition 
that  you  leave  Wissacon — in  fact,  this  part 
of  the  country.  You  would  not  object  to 
doing  that?" 

266 


The   Conservation   of  a   Railroad 

' '  Leave  Wissacon  ?  Why,  this  is  my  home. 
It  is  the  only  home  I  have.  Why  might  I 
not  live  here  as  a  widow?  How  can  that 
harm  anybody?  I  have  my  friends  here.  I 
don't  want  to  leave  Wissacon." 

"But  that  is  part  of  the  stipulation  in 
this  paper — that  you  shall  do  so.  Otherwise, 
there  might  be  considerable  difficulty  about 
the  settlement." 

"Now,  look  here,  Potter,"  said  Blanche. 
"I  am  not  going  to  be  run  over  any  more. 
I  suppose  I  was  a  bit  soft  at  the  beginning, 
when  you  first  came  in.  Now  I  am  getting 
hard  again,  as  I  used  to  be,  as  a  lonesome 
woman  has  to  be.  I  will  not  leave  Wissacon 
unless  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  a  year  is 
settled  on  me.  Why  should  he  drive  me 
away — for  another  woman?" 

"But  the  papers  stipulate " 

"I  don't  care  a  hurrah.  I  won't  leave  here 
for  less  than  twenty-five  hundred  a  year. 
Go  back,  you  jackal,  and  report  that." 

"Very  well,"  said  Paul.  "Twenty-five 
hundred,  then.  And  you  leave  at  once. 
That's  understood,  isn't  it?" 

She  stared  out  of  the  window  at  the  light 


267 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

snow  eddying  fantastically  under  the  chang 
ing  caprice  of  the  March  wind. 

"  Twenty-five  hundred,  then,  and  you  go 
at  once.  That's  understood?"  he  repeated. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "that's  understood." 

"Thank  you.  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Chester. 
You  are  courageous,  and  a  good  woman. 
JWill  you  shake  hands  with  me?" 

She  extended  her  hand.  "Yes,  coura 
geous  and  good,  perhaps,  but  a  woman, 
surely.  Jesus,  pity  women.  Poor  things, 
poor  things.  The  world  is  hard  for  us 
women.  That  little  child  upstairs  will  be  a 
woman  some  day.  Poor  child.  And  the 
other  baby,  the  one  that  is  coming — all  that 
can  carry  me  through  for  the  next  few 
months  will  be  the  hope  that  it  is  not  a  girl." 

"Another  child?"  said  Paul,  truly  com 
passionate.  "Is  there  to  be  another?" 

"Yes;  even  Carl  doesn't  know  it  yet.  Tell 
him.  And  tell  him  to  pray — if  he  ever  prays 
— that  it  may  be  a  boy,  for  its  own  sake." 

The  doorbell  rang.  There  was  a  telegram. 
Blanche  opened  it.  She  read  it.  "Oh,  thank 
God,  thank  God,  thank  God,"  she  said.  "It 
is  from  him.  Everything  is  all  right.  There 


268 


The   Conservation   of  a   Railroad 

is  no  other  woman."    She  sank  on  the  wide 
lounge,  and  began  to  cry  happily. 

Paul  was  frightened.  "May  I  see  it!"  he 
asked.  She  handed  him  the  yellow  paper : 

"Mrs.  C.  Chester,  Wissacon,  N.  Y. 

"Paul  delivers  message  ivith  my  knoivl- 
edge.  Tiling  forced  on  me  by  family.  Great 
est  sorrow  of  my  life.  Love  you  always  and 
forever.  Good-bye.  God  bless  you.  C." 

Paul  reported  his  success  to  Mr.  Wildmer- 
ding  the  same  evening.  "Thank  you,  thank 
you,  indeed,"  said  the  multimillionaire. 
"You  have  put  me  under  a  real  obligation. 
It  is — ah — unfortunate,  the — ah — fact  of  the 
anticipated  new  arrival.  But  perhaps,  in 
years  to  come,  we  can  do  something  in  a 
quiet  way  towards  helping  him  to  a  good 
technical  education — if  it  turns  out  to  be  a 
boy.  They  are  my  grandchildren,  aren't 
they?" 

The  grandfather  meditated.  Then,  "I  am 
pleased  with  the  way  you  have  handled  this 
matter.  Perhaps  my  gratitude  may  take  a 
substantial  form,  the  next  time  that  I  have 
active  business.  In  fact,  may  I  rely  upon 
your  confidence?" 

269 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

"Absolutely,  sir, ' '  answered  Paul 
promptly. 

"I  will  break  a  lifelong  rule  and  give  you 
a  little  information  about  a  contemplated 
movement  in — but  I  have  your  word  of  honor 
as  a  gentleman  that  nobody,  not  your  part 
ners,  not  your  wife,  not  Carl,  no  one,  shall 
ever  know?  Also,  of  course,  that  you  will 
not  sell  the  stock  which  I  shall  name  to  you 
under  the  figure  which  I  shall  fix." 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"Roanoke,  common,  now  at  27,  will  prob 
ably  be  put  above  40  within  thirty  days.  In 
fact,  the  thing  is  as  sure  as  we  can  be  of 
anything  of  a  cognate  nature.  Of  course 
you  must  not  sell  a  share  under  40,  or  the 
workings  of  the  pool,  strong  as  it  is,  will  be 
hampered. ' ' 

Paul  gave  his  hand  to  Mr.  "Wildmerding. 
"You  may  count  on  my  discretion  and  prom 
ise  absolutely.  And  I  appreciate  the  great 
compliment  that  you  have  paid  me  in  taking 
me  into  your  confidence.  Thank  you  very 
much,  sir." 

Paul  left  the  library,  beaming  with  happi 
ness  for  the  important  "tip"  which  he  had 
received.  He  turned  his  steps  to  Carl,  who 
270 


The   Conservation   of  a   Railroad 

was  waiting  for  him  in  the  upstairs  smok 
ing  room. 

Carl  sat  huddled  upon  the  broad  divan,  a 
sad  and  broken  little  millionaire,  while  Paul 
told  him  much  of  what  had  happened  at  Wis- 
sacon. 

The  tears  rained  down  his  face  when  he 
heard  of  his  unborn  child. 

"God  knows  how  I  ever  did  it,"  he  cried, 
his  frail  body  shaking  and  shivering  under 
the  force  of  his  sobs.  "God  knows  how  I 
ever  could  do  it. ' ' 

Paul  put  his  arm  about  his  friend's  shoul 
der,  and  when  the  violence  of  his  feeling  was 
nearly  spent,  said,  "You  did  the  right  thing, 
old  man.  It  was  hard;  it  took  pluck,  but, 
after  all,  you  did  your  duty.  You  kept  the 
Southeastern  railroad  in  your  branch  of  the 
family — that  was  your  duty,"  urged  Paul, 
"and  that's  what  counts." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Carl  wearily,  "I  sup 
pose  so." 


271 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


A  PATRON  OF  THE  ARTS 

Within  the  month  Paul  quietly  bought  much 
Roanoke  common  and  then  quietly  sold  it 
again,  gaining  $54,000. 

"I  have  had  good  luck  lately,  Muriel,"  he 
said  to  his  wife.  "I've  made  nearly  fifty 
thousand  on  Roanoke." 

She  smiled  happily,  with  pleasure.  "How 
ever  did  you  do  it,  dear?" 

"Oh,  your  husband  isn't  such  an  old  duf 
fer  as  you  thought,"  said  he,  kissing  her. 

"Now  I  think  we  can  certainly  take  the 
Suchers'  cottage  at  Newport  for  June,  July 
and  August.  They  are  going  abroad  for  the 
summer.  I  have  been  talking  with  Sarah 
Suchers  about  it." 

"You  have?  What  made  you  think  we 
could  afford  it?" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  anything  definite.  But 
272 


A   Patron   of  the  Arts 

it's  lucky  I  have  been  thinking  about  it. 
Isn't  it  nice  we  shan't  have  to  camp  around 
this  summer?  I  think  I'll  call  up  Sarah  and 
tell  her  now.  She  wanted  to  hear  as  soon 
as  possible." 

"It's  a  rum  business,  this  business  of  life," 
mused  Paul  as  he  heard  his  wife's  high  heels 
click-click  rapidly  over  the  hardwood  floor 
towards  the  downstairs  telephone.  "Here 
I  pack  that  Blanche  woman  and  her  kids  out 
west,  with  the*  consequence  that  Muriel 
spends  the  summer  in  Newport. ' '  He  touched 
the  electric  bell.  "Bring  me  a  Scotch  and 
soda,  please,"  said  he. 

Far  down  the  hall  and  coming  nearer  he 
heard  his  wife's  gay  soprano  trilling  the 
ditty  with  which  Eloise  Muret,  the  French 
chanteuse,  had  created  the  music  hall  furore 
of  the  winter.  "Ne  faites  pas  ca — ici."  The 
success  of  the  ballade  hung  upon  the  facial, 
dorsal  and  torsal  contortions  with  which 
Mile.  Muret  illumined  words  so  simple  in 
themselves  that  one  child  might  have  said 
them  to  another.  Muriel  had  been  a  fre 
quent  attendant  at  the  music  hall  where  La 
Muret  held  forth,  and  had  learned  to  imitate 
her  rather  passably  well.  Often  now,  toward 

273 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

the  end  of  supper  parties,  Muriel  was  called 
upon  for  "Ne  faites  pas  ca — ici."  Invari 
ably  she  was  rewarded  by  a  storm  of  ap 
plause  from  all  the  men  present,  except  Paul, 
whose  enthusiasm  for  the  chanson  had  cooled. 

"I  wish  you'd  get  a  new  song,"  he  grum 
bled,  as  she  threw  the  door  of  the  smoking 
room  open.  ''You've  been  singing  that  all 
winter." 

"Is  my  little  Pauline  jealous?"  she  said, 
humming  the  refrain,  "Quelqu'un  sera 
f  ache. ' ' 

"Jealous?  What  rot!  I'm  sick  of  it,  that's 
all.  And  I  wish  you'd  cut  it  out." 

"We've  got  the  Suchers'  house.  Eighteen 
thousand  for  three  months." 

"Well,  they  don't  want  much,"  answered 
Paul.  "An  old  brick  house  in  the  old  part 
of  town.  That's  outrageous.  Why  did  you 
let  them  hold  you  up  like  that?" 

"Please  stop  complaining  about  every 
thing  I  do,  especially  about  money.  Didn't 
you  make  a  nice  little  thing  just  now?" 

"I  didn't  expect  you'd  turn  right  around 
and  hand  it  to  the  Suchers." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  stop  bickering,  and 
talk  seriously  for  a  moment.  The  Suchers 
274 


A   Patron   of  the  Arts 

house  is  a  real  inspiration.  They  belong  to 
the  old-fashioned  set,  that  pays  lots  of  atten 
tion  to  family  and  aren't  intimate  with  the 
new  rich.  Now,  that's  what  we'll  have  to  do, 
after  this.  I  can  say  I'm  sick  of  the  continual 
going  out,  and  that  we  want  a  simpler,  more 
wholesome  life.  Being  in  the  Suchers '  house 
will  help,  too.  We  can  maintain  a  good  posi 
tion  of  that  sort  with  our  money. 

"Well,"  smiled  Paul,  "I'm  not  exactly 
what  you  would  call  old  family. ' ' 

"Oh,  that  makes  no  difference.  Lots  of 
members  of  the  old  family  set  aren't  really 
old  family,  but  they  can't  afford  the  other 
—that's  all.  There  won't  be  any  trouble  if 
we  give  nice  parties.  Besides,  I  am  old 
family. ' ' 

"Sounds  like  a  pious  scheme,  then,  for 
we  can't  nick  with  the  gaudy  spenders  much 
longer. ' ' 

"Old  family  in  Newport  during  the  sum 
mer,  and  rather  elevated  bohemianism  here 
in  town  in  the  winter,"  she  continued.  "Ar 
tistic  and  intellectual,  and  all  that  kind  of 
thing,  you  know.  We  could  have  a  salon  for 
painters,  musicians,  poets  and  literary  peo 
ple  generally — actors  and  artists  and  war 

275 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

correspondents  and  explorers  and — ah,  let's 
see — inventors  and  that  sort  of  people." 

Paul  laughed.  "More  economical,  cer 
tainly,  but  I'm  blessed  if  I  know  where  you're 
going  to  get  the  explorers  and  inventors.  We 
might  corral  the  others,  in  time." 

"The  supper  tonight  will  be  like  that.  It 
will  do  for  a  beginning." 

"What  inventors  and  explorers  are  com 
ing?"  grinned  he. 

"Anita  and  the  Alaires  and  Katharine 
Ellis  and  Darlington,  the  Philadelphia  Turn- 
velts,  the  Elites,  the  Favereux  girls,  and 
they'll  probably  bring  a  couple  of  new  young 
men  from  San  Francisco  or  Sioux  City.  I 
don't  see  how  they  meet  these  Western 
Croesuses  in  the  first  place,  and  Billy  Dun- 
bar " 

"Oh,  I  say,  Muriel,  that  will  hardly  do. 
Billy's  quite  beyond  the  pale." 

"He  is!  I  didn't  know  he  was  quite  be 
yond.  Anyway,  this  is  to  be  a  bohemian 
party,  so  it  won't  matter." 

"Isn't  Jim  Ellis  coming?" 

Muriel  directed  a  quickly  suspicious  glance 
at  her  husband.  '  *  Oh,  yes,  I  forgot  him. ' ' 

"Hmm!  I  can't  see  anything  particu- 
276 


A   Patron   of  the   Arts 

larly  bohemian  about  that  agglomeration.  It 
sounds  like  the  same  old  gang." 

4 'Oh,  but  wait  till  I  tell  you.  Lamort,  the 
new  Frenchman  whose  posters  are  so  fright 
fully  Beardsleyesque,  and  who  writes  most 
eerie  verses  under  each  one  in  mixed  French 
and  English,  is  coming,  and  he's  bound  to 
say  something  fearful  and  amusing — he  al 
ways  does." 

"I  know  all  about  him;  he's  a  disgusting 
whelp.  Between  Helen  Alaire,  who 's  usually 
so  inspired  with  morphia  that  she  can  do 
nothing  but  stare  about,  and  Dunbar  and  La 
mort,  it  won't  be  a  very  healthy  place.  I 
keep  myself  in  pretty  fit  condition  the  year 
around,  and  I  don't  care  for  decay.  I  don't 
think  I  shall  come  to  your  party." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  Paul.  Of  course 
you'll  come.  I  can  arrange  to  keep  Billy 
Dunbar  away,  but  as  to  Lamort — everybody 
has  him.  Besides,  we  are  to  have  a  really 
wonderful  person — Castleman,  the  new  act 
ress,  who  does  Ibsen  so  divinely.  I  didn't 
really  think  she'd  come  when  I  asked  her. 
Several  other  women  have  tried  to  get 
her,  without  success — but  she  accepted  me 
promptly.  I  know  Katharine  Ellis  has  asked 

277 


A   Little   Brother  of  the    Rich 

her  two  or  three  times  to  her  artistic  affairs, 
but  the  woman  never  went.  So  this  will  be 
really  rather  a  feather  in  my  cap. ' ' 

"Castlernan,  the  California  actress?  Are 
you  sure  she's  from  California?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure,"  answered  Muriel.  "Cal 
ifornia,  or  Colorado,  or  some  such  place. 
Maybe  it  was  Manitoba;  I  don't  remember. 
Anyway,  she  has  never  been  east  before, 
somebody  said  so  yesterday  at  lunch.  She 
learned  about  Ibsen  out  there — fancy  that. 
It's  really  very  remarkable." 

Paul  laughed.  "Remarkable  that  the  bear 
should  dance  at  all,  eh?  But  what  theater  is 
she  playing?  Is  she  having  much  success? 
I  haven't  seen  her  name  on  the  playbills." 

"Oh,  she's  the  very  newest  thing.  Kath- 
erine  Ellis  and  Darlington  and  their  set 
started  the  fad,  and  this  week  ever  so  many 
people  have  motored  up  there,  and  then  we 
take  tea  in  a  little  frumpy  cafe  right  near 
the  theatre.  It  must  be  making  its  fortune. 
But  of  course  as  soon  as  it  is  known  that 
we  go  there,  everybody  else  will  begin  to  go, 
and  that  will  spoil  everything." 

4 '  You  say  she  acts  well — very  well  ? ' '  Paul 
inquired. 

278 


A   Patron   of  the   Arts 

"My  dear,  she's  divine — really.  Darling 
ton  says  she's  a  true  artiste.  Dresses  hide 
ously,  however ;  I  suppose  that 's  in  the  play, 
though.  She  lives  with  Frawly." 

"What?"  ejaculated  Paul.  * 

"Oh,  yes.  He  found  her  out  west  some 
where,  as  a  rough  diamond.  She'd  been  un 
happily  married  and  was  separated  from  her 
husband.  She  made  her  living,  nominally 
anyway,  by  giving  small  concerts  and  sing 
ing  in  church  choirs.  When  Frawly  was 
playing  in  Denver  last  year  he  happened  to 
drop  into  a  Sunday  concert  where  she  ap 
peared.  He  was  attracted  by  her  at  once. 
She  has  a  wonderful  figure,  tall  yet  very  sup 
ple,  with  great  black  eyes — Enfin "  Mu 
riel  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  explanation. 

"Enfin  what?"  asked  Paul  shortly. 

"Why,  what  you'd  expect  from  people  of 
their  class.  And  now  he  has  rented  this  lit 
tle  theatre  up  in  Harlem,  to  keep  his  prom 
ise,  I  suppose,  with  the  understanding  that  if 
she  does  well  he  is  to  give  her  a  chance  next 
year  in  one  of  the  New  York  theatres." 

A  vague,  undefined,  formless,  mordant  sus 
picion  seized  suddenly  on  his  mind.  Muriel's 
misinformation  seemed  complete  on  every 

279 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

point  and  in  every  particular.  But  after 
all,  hidden  away  in  her  grotesque  fabric  of 
error  might  there  not  be  lodged  a  single 
strand  of  truth?  He  wondered. 

Why,  indeed,  should  Frawly,  lover  of 
pretty  women  that  he  was,  have  rented  the 
little  theatre  in  Harlem  for  Sylvia?  The 
ugly  thought  persisted  and  recurred,  until 
finally  he  asked,  in  a  strained  monotone, 
"What  makes  you  think  she  is  Frawly 's  mis 
tress?" 

Muriel  laughed.  "The  case  is  plain  enough, 
I  think.  They're  all  alike,  these  actors,  act 
resses  and  professional  singers." 

"You  are  a  little  unjust,  I  think." 

"Nonsense!" 

"But  aside  from  that,"  he  continued,  "is 
she  succeeding?  Will  Frawly  bring  her 
downtown  next  year?" 

"Probably  not.  He  told  Jim  Ellis  that 
she's  not  drawing  well,  although  Frawly 
himself  thinks  she's  very  good.  The  papers 
speak  well  of  her,  but  of  course  the  hoi  polloi 
won't  pay  to  see  Ibsen  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
which  is  all  she  is  doing.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  don't  suppose  that  she's  up  to  really  strong 
plays  that  call  for  a  strong  emotional  act- 
280 


A   Patron   of  the  Arts 

ress.  She's  not  even  paying  expenses  now, 
and  Katherine  Ellis  is  talking  of  getting  up 
a  subscription  for  her.  I  have  put  our  names 
down  for  twenty  dollars.  Cultivated  people 
ought  to  encourage  serious  purpose  in  the 
drama,  I  think ;  don't  you?" 

"Certainly,"  he  assented;  "but  how  is 
your  lioness  to  get  here — on  the  elevated?" 

"Oh,  I  hadn't  thought — we  might  send  the 
motor  for  her." 

* '  Good  idea.  I  '11  drive  up  myself.  I  need 
the  air." 

Muriel  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "You  need 
the  air!"  said  she,  smiling.  "Very  well. 
The  Harlem  Hall  of  the  Muses  is  the  name. 
Be  sure  you  are  on  time." 

"I'll  be  on  time,"  answered  Paul,  smiling 
also. 


281 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


SENTIMENTALIZING 

Paul  'drove  his  car  into  the  narrow  alley 
which  bordered  the  Harlem  Hall  of  the 
Muses.  He  did  not  shut  off  the  engine,  but 
left  it  coughing  quietly  and  regularly.  He 
scratched  a  few  words  on  a  visiting  card, 
"Am  waiting  for  you  at  stage  entrance  with 
motor.  Paul,"  and  handed  it  to  the  door 
keeper.  "For  Miss  Castleman.  AVhen  will 
she  be  out?" 

' '  In  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  sir.  Thank  you, 
sir." 

Paul  glanced  at  his  watch,  then  lit  a  cigar 
ette.  He  strolled  up  and  down  before  the 
door,  looking  each  time  he  passed,  inquisi 
tively  up  the  flight  of  painted  white  wooden 
steps  that  led  to  "behind  the  scenes." 

He  opened  his  watch  again.  Only  three 
minutes  had  passed.  Plainly  he  was  nervous. 
282 


Sentimentalizing 


She  was  the  woman  whom  he  had  come  near 
est  to  loving  in  all  his  life.  He  never  could 
forget  her.  He  never  wanted  to  forget  her. 
It  was  odd,  too,  that  it  was  Muriel  who,  at 
the  Yale  Prom,  had  caused  the  quarrel  be 
tween  them.  It  had  been  ten  years  since  he 
had  seen  her.  And  now,  after  this  long  time 
of  absence  and  silence,  a  wave  of  feeling 
seemed  to  be  overcoming  him  again. 

The  soft,  damp,  warm  April  breeze  stirred 
restlessly  over  him.  Yes,  he  might  as  well 
face  the  facts.  He  had  been  mistaken  in  Mu 
riel.  She  was  not  a  helpful  wife.  She  was 
not  the  sort  of  woman  he  had  supposed  her. 
She  had  talked  so  wondrously,  so  sympathet 
ically,  so  comprehendingly  of  the  communion 
of  spirits  and  the  higher  understanding  be 
tween  souls,  when  they  had  been  together  on 
the  Capuan ;  yet  since  they  had  been  married 
she  had  hardly  talked  of  such  things  at  all. 
She  seemed  to  have  a  different  vocabulary 
now.  And  he  couldn't  forget  what  Dick 
Evers  had  told  him  about  those  three  other 
men.  She  was  other  men's  leavings.  If  Dick 
hadn't  caught  them,  there  would  have  been 
no  divorce,  and  he  would  still  be  free. 

Eleven  minutes  had  passed.  She  might 
283 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

come  at  any  second.  Two  women  already 
had  come  out,  making  their  way  down  the 
alley  to  the  street,  dropping  their  eyes  under 
the  stares  of  the  men  who  waited  under  the 
electric  light,  to  see  the  actresses  in  their 
street  dresses.  Paul  placed  the  tips  of  his  fin 
gers  between  his  ribs  over  his  heart,  ' '  Some 
body 's  been  putting  on  the  accelerator  here," 
said  he,  "and  here  is  the  girl  who  did  it." 

Sylvia  stepped  into  the  muddy  alley.  Be 
side  her  was  a  thin,  elderly  man  with  gray 
hair,  heavy  nose  and  long  chin.  Both  were 
smiling.  Paul  advanced,  hat  in  hand,  "How 
do  you  do  ? "  said  he. 

"How  do  you  do,  Paul?"  Each  looked 
quickly  at  the  other,  to  observe  the  changes 
of  a  decade.  She  seemed  full  ten  years  older, 
perhaps  fifteen  oldei,  than  when  he  had  last 
seen  her.  She  showed  greater  maturity, 
womanliness  of  body;  and  her  face,  instead 
of  being  a  prophecy,  was  a  fulfillment.  It  was 
a  face  that  had  been  written  upon. 

She  saw  him  less  slimly  graceful,  stronger, 
more  comfortable  looking.  His  face  was 
shrewder  and  sharper  and  harder.  His  jowls 
were  the  triflest  bit  heavier;  veins  showed 
here  and  there ;  but  his  eyes  were  as  clear,  his 
284 


Sentimentalizing 


teeth  as  shiny  white,  his  shoulders  as  broad, 
and  his  back  as  straight  as  in  the  days  of 
his  youth. 

"Mr.  Leamington — Mr.  Potter." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Leamington?  I  have 
heard  much  of  you/' 

"People  used  to  hear  of  me  once,  in  this 
town.  But  that  was  long  ago.  I  should  hardly 
have  thought,  sir,  that  so  young  a  man  as 
you  seem  to  be  would  have  known  of  me. 
Time  washes  names  off  the  boards  very  rap 
idly." 

"Miss  Castle  is  coming  to  our  house  for 
supper.  Will  you  not  come,  too?  There  is 
plenty  of  room  in  the  motor." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  but  I  fear  I  cannot. 
I  have  much  work  to  do  tonight,  which  I 
have  shirked  this  first  spring  afternoon  for 
a  walk  in  Central  Park.  And,  Sylvia,  remem 
ber  to  get  home  in  good  season.  Rehearsal 
is  called  for  ten  tomorrow;  and  you  should 
be  fresher  for  the  professional  matinee  in 
the  afternoon  than  you  have  ever  been  in 
your  life  before.  So  please,  my  dear,  do  not 
stay  late.  Tomorrow  means  a  crisis  for  us." 

"Oh,  you  old  jailer!"  laughed  she,  putting 
her  hand  on  his  arm.  "I  have  heard  that 

285 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

warning  to  be  particularly  fresh  for  tomor 
row's  crisis  on  an  average  of  once  a  week 
ever  since  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  your 
acquaintance  and  the  benefit  of  your  instruc 
tion."  She  swept  him  a  low  curtsey,  dex 
terously  keeping  her  blue,  accordion-pleated 
skirt  from  the  mud. 

Her  face  lightened,  as  he  looked  into  her 
smiling  eyes.  "Ah,  si  la  jeunesse  savait,"  he 
said  in  mock  pathos.  ' l  Good-night,  then — and 
do  get  to  bed  on  time." 

The  car  swept  southward,  straddling  the 
car  tracks,  and  turned  into  the  north  end  of 
the  park.  As  the  giant  vehicle  swung  power 
fully  around  the  studied  curves,  its  long 
Siamese-twin  funnels  of  light  veered  from 
side  to  side  across  the  macadam  road. 

Sometimes  there  was  a  brief  glare  in  their 
eyes,  the  hum  of  a  huge  bee,  the  roar  of  a 
waterfall,  the  laughing  sound  of  women's 
voices  borne  backward,  as  another  driver  of 
sixty-in-hand  crashed  by,  seeking  his  pleas 
ure.  Otherwise  Central  Park  was  deserted, 
save  for  an  occasional  lonesome  policeman. 

Sylvia  sat  silent  on  the  front  seat,  watch 
ing  the  light  from  the  acetylenes  now  illumi 
nate,  sunlike,  the  minutest  pebbles  or  the  tini- 
286 


Sentimentalizing 


est  puddle  in  the  road  ahead  of  them,  now  at 
the  curves  flee,  hiding,  into  the  tangle  of  bare 
trees  and  naked  bushes  which  bordered  their 
path.  The  gentle  wind  through  which  they 
rushed  was  warm  and  moist  and  fertile, 
touching  them  with  the  spirit  of  the  awaken 
ing  year. 

When  the  car  drew  up  before  the  tall  stone 
house,  and  the  obedient  explosions  of  the  gas 
oline  ceased,  he  turned  to  her.  ' '  I  had  many 
things  to  say,  but  I  could  not.  Thank  you 
for  the  ride,  Sylvia." 

She  was  silent. 

* '  Come, ' '  said  he,  *  *  let  us  go  in  where  there 
are  lights,  and  alcohol,  and  false  laughter, 
and  lies.  Oh,  I  am  not  the  one  to  say  this. 
It  was  these  siren  lights  and  this  lying  laugh 
ter  that  I  sought,  and  have  paid  for.  Now  I 
know  the  worthlessness  of  it — and  the  cost." 

"Hush,  Paul,"  she  whispered,  her  eyes 
shining.  * '  Let  us  go  in. ' ' 


287 


CHAPTEE  XXVIII 


More  champagne  was  consumed  at  Mu 
riel's  supper  party  than  is  usually  vouchsafed 
to  bohemians.  When  they  had  finished  the 
meal — the  fifth  of  the  day  for  most  of  them 
— her  guests  moved  to  the  long  red  library, 
where  shaded  lights  brought  out  the  gold- 
tooled  backs  of  a  thousand  volumes,  which, 
like  the  people,  were  editions  of  luxury,  little 
used. 

Muriel  came  to  the  actress,  and,  leaning 
very  close  to  her,  and  smiling  very  graciously, 
said: 

"We  hope  to  have  tonight,  now  that  you 
and  two  or  three  other  interesting  people  are 
with  us,  something  better  than  our  usual  dull 
time  with  each  other.  Will  you  not  help  us  ? " 

"You  mean  you  want  me  to  sing?" 

"Sing  or  recite — if  you  would,"  Muriel  ex- 
288 


The   Bohemians 

plained.  "We  rather  aim  at  a  certain  bohe- 
mianism  of  the  better  sort,  if  I  may  use  a 
sadly  overworked  phrase.  All  of  us  who  can 
are  expected  to  do  something.  Two  or  three 
of  the  others  have  parlor  tricks,"  she  laughed, 
"and  I  have  a  little  French  song  that  I 
sing." 

Across  the  room  Sylvia  saw  Anita  Deve- 
reux  and  Ethel  Harrick  laughing  together; 
beside  her  was  Katherine  Dunbar;  before 
her,  smiling  falsely  as  always,  was  Mrs.  Rich- 
ard  Evers.  Only  their  names  had  been 
changed — to  Wildmerding,  Turnvelt,  Ellis, 
Potter — aye,  Paul  Potter.  It  was  ten  years 
since  she  had  seen  those  four  women,  since 
she  had  spent  three  miserably  wretched  days 
with  them.  Though  they  had  quite  forgotten 
her,  she  had  not  forgotten  them.  She  never 
could  forget  the  woman  who  now  stood  before 
her  asking  a  favor. 

The  actress  smiled  a  negative.  "Really," 
she  said,  "with  your  raw  April  winds,  my 
throat  is  sore.  I  don't  dare  overwork  my 
voice.  I  am  so  sorry." 

The  piano  tinkled  responsive  to  Lamort's 
long  fingers ;  the  smoke  from  a  thin  Russian 
cigarette  curled  spirally  into  his  eyes;  he 

289 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

shook  back  his  yellow  hair;  and  Muriel, 
standing  behind  him,  slowly  drew  up  her  bare 
shoulders  from  her  green  bodice,  extended 
her  palms,  and  began  nasally,  "Ne  faites  pas 
ca — ici. ' ' 

The  people  in  the  room  applauded,  laugh 
ing  at  the  daring  of  the  woman.  Lainort 
threw  her  an  insolent  glance  and  whispered 
half  a  sentence  in  French.  None  heard  what 
he  said  except  the  Favereux  girls  who  were 
standing  by  the  piano.  They  giggled,  in 
perfect  comprehension. 

In  the  corner  farthest  from  the  piano,  the 
drinking,  the  smoking  and  the  border-edge1 
talk,  Sylvia  sat  with  Katherine  Ellis  and 
Darlington.  Her  shyness  passed  away  under 
their  sweet  praises ;  the  strangeness  wore  off 
between  them ;  the  actress  in  her  inexpensive 
blue  dress  lost  her  consciousness  of  the  rich 
woman's  thousand-dollar  gown ;  and  they  be^ 
came  friends. 

For  an  hour  they  talked  of  the  stage.  Syl 
via  quickly  dominated  the  conversation  by; 
her  vaster  knowledge,  while  the  other  two 
listened,  first  with  politeness,  then  with  in 
terest,  finally  with  respect. 

''Humanity,  realism,"  concluded  Sylvia, 
290 


The   Bohemians 

with  glowing  cheeks,  ''is  the  future  of  the 
drama.  Ibsen  was  the  forerunner.  Haupt- 
mann,  Gorky,  Shaw,  Sudermann  follow  him, 
mighty  presagers  of  a  truer  day.  Romanti 
cism,  like  other  lies,  must  go." 

"This  has  been  to  me  a  breath  of  fresh 
ness  in  the  tired  air  of  an  over-perfumed 
room, ' '  sighed  Katherine.  * '  If  you  will  allow 
an  odd  expression,  you  have  been  useful 
to  me." 

"I  am  glad  if  that  is  so,  and  this  evening 
has  been  very  useful  to  me,  too,"  said  the 
actress.  "Please  tell  me,  Mrs.  Ellis — these 
are  people  of  the  best  society  in  New  York, 
and  this  is  the  way  they  amuse  themselves  1 ' ' 

"Yes,  they  all,  except  of  course  that 
Frenchman,  who's  only  a  Lenten  crochet,  be 
long  to  the  gay  set.  And  this  is  their — our 
usual  amusement;  something  to  eat,  some 
thing  to  smoke,  a  great  deal  to  drink,  and  the 
throwing  together  of  people,  especially  mar 
ried  people,  who  are  having  flirtations." 

Muriel  was  sitting  with  Jim  Ellis  on  a  low 
divan  in  the  opposite  corner.  Elusively  she 
smiled  at  him ;  and  Katherine  saw  the  flames 
break  out  from  the  eyes  of  her  brother-in- 
law.  "It's  only  fair  to  add,  however,  that 

291 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

our  charming  hostess  is  rather  in  advance 
of  the  times.  But  the  times  seem  to  be  hurry 
ing  after  her." 

Sylvia  turned  again  to  study  the  noisy 
crowd.  Instinctively  she  catalogued  in  her 
trained  memory,  for  future  bits  of  business, 
the  saliencies  of  the  pleasure-hunters. 

"I  see  there  is  another  Mime  here,"  she 
remarked.  "Who  is  he — the  sallow  young 
fellow  talking  so  spasmodically  to  the  big, 
yellow-haired  woman  in  the  chaise  longue  ? ' ' 

"He — why,  what  makes  you  think  he  is  an 
actor?" 

* '  That 's  plain, '  •  laughed  Sylvia.  * '  He  was 
in  such  a  hurry  to  come  to  the  party  that  he 
left  his  shop  without  entirely  getting  his 
make-up  off." 

Dead  silence  followed  her  remark. 

"Who  is  he?"  she  repeated. 

Katherine  answered  in  a  very  low  tone,  her 
face  as  pale  as  snow:  "He  is  not  an  actor. 
He  is  my  brother.  Oh,  why  ever  did  Muriel 
inv " 

"Watch  Dollie  Favereux.  She's  going  to 
do  a  stunt,"  interrupted  Paul,  who  had 
strolled  up. 

A  tall,  pale,  auburn-haired  girl  borrowed 
292 


The   Bohemians 

a  cane  from  the  rich  young  man  from  San 
Francisco,  then  opposite  him  danced  a  semi- 
can-can.  Applause.  She  sang  a  couple  of 
English  music  hall  songs  which  were  carried 
by  their  tang  of  suggestiveness,  and  ended 
with  a  whirring  skirt  dance.  Much  applause. 

"Where's  her  husband?"  asked  Sylvia, 
wickedly.  "I  want  to  see  if  his  expression  is 
as  bored  as  a  certain  other  husband's  was 
tonight  when  his  wife  was  on." 

Paul  laughed.  "She  hasn't  a  husband. 
She's  a  girl.  Girls  are  progressive  nowa 
days." 

"There  wasn't  anything  especially  wicked 
in  what  Miss  Favereux  did,"  said  Dar 
lington.  "The  badness  of  her  stunt  lay 
in  her  idea  that  there  was  something  a  little 
more  than  daring  in  it.  The  same  with  the 
onlookers.  They  think  they  have  seen  some 
thing  rather  devilish;  that  is  why  they  are 
applauding  so  determinedly.  As  poorly  done 
a  performance  wouldn't  last  a  week  on  the 
professional  stage.  Am  I  not  right,  Miss 
Castleman?" 

* '  You  certainly  are, ' '  laughed  Sylvia.  *  *  No 
vaudeville  manager  that  I've  ever  known, 


293 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

and  I've  worked  for  more  than  a  couple, 
would  put  that  on. ' ' 

' 'It  is  this  same  amateurishness  in  every 
thing,  ' '  continued  Darlington  excitedly ; ' '  this 
complete  inefficiency  that  is  the  dominant 
note  of  the  lives  and  characters  of  our  women 
of  fashion.  They  can't  sing,  they  can't  dance, 
they  can't  act,  they  can't  paint,  they  can't 
sew,  they  can't  cook,  they  can't  educate. 
They  are  inept,  unthorough,  inconsequential, 
rudderless,  compassless,  drifting.  They  don't 
know  life,  because  they  have  never  lived  life. 
They  are  like  perpetual  typhoid  fever  pa 
tients,  supported  always  on  rubber  water 
mattresses.  Helpless,  hapless,  hopeless,  nerv 
ous,  disappointed,  cloyed  and  cowardly,  they 
exist  a  few  years  here,  seeking  to  have  all 
their  living  done  for  them  by  paid  depend 
ents.  They  delegate  all  their  functions  in 
life  save  one — and  even  that  they  don't  do 
well  or  often.'* 

Darlington  concluded  with  glowing  eyes 
and  looked  to  Katherine.  They  were  in  love 
with  each  other  in  dilute  fashion,  just  as  they 
had  been  before  she  sold  herself  to  Lassie 
Ellis.  She  wondered  why  she  had  seldom 


294 


The   Bohemians 

been  able  to  raise  him  to  such  vehemence  as 
he  had  been  pouring  out  for  Sylvia. 

"And  yet,"  said  Katherine,  "there  must 
be  some  strong,  resistless  fascination  under 
all  this  superficial,  frothy  glitter  that  draws- 
us  on.  For  even  we,  who  in  our  hearts  real 
ize  the  inanity  of  the  whole  thing,  yet  pa 
tiently  grind  on  until  our  last  hours  upon  this 
weary,  golden  treadmill.  Can  you  explain 
that,  Miss  Castleman?" 

Sylvia  dropped  her  chin  into  her  hand  and 
thought.  "  I  do  not  believe, ' '  she  said  finally, 
"that  its  lure  is  so  compelling  because  it  is 
strong  as  because  you  are  weak.  But  that  is 
not  your  fault.  Life  is  so  ordered  for  you 
that  you  have  no  chance  to  be  anything  but 
weak. ' ' 

The  party  was  breaking  up.  Katherine 
held  out  her  hand  to  Sylvia.  "Miss  Castle- 
man,"  said  she,  "I  have  had  a  delightful 
evening  because  of  you.  I  am  not  going  to 
ask  you  to  call  on  me,  as  I  meant  to,  when 
first  we  met.  Instead,  I  wish  to  ask  you 
whether  I  may  not  call  on  you?" 

"Truly,  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure 
to  see  you  again, ' '  smiled  Sylvia.  ' '  I  live  at  a 
little  family  hotel,  called  the  Lonsdale,  on 

295 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

148th  street,  and  perhaps  you  will  not  mind 
if  I  say  that  I  like  you  much  better  than  when 
I  first  met  you,  ten  years  ago. ' ' 

4 'Where  was  that?"" 

"At  the  Yale  Promenade." 

"Were  you  there?  Oh,  yes.  Why,  you 
went  with  Paul.  That  is  how  you  happen  to 
know  each  other  so  well.  I  was  wondering. 
Oh — yes — I  remember  all  about  it  now.  How 
you  have  changed ! ' ' 

"Yes,"  smiled  Sylvia,  "I  have  changed  a 
good  deal,  I  suppose.  I  had  to.  But  you  look 
hardly  a  day  older.  I  remember  so  well  that 
one  of  the  dresses  you  wore  then  was  of  the 
same  style  as  this — long,  white  and  clinging, 
like  Grecian  draperies.  And  you  wore  a  nar 
row  band  of  diamonds  in  your  hair,  just  as 
now.  You  reminded  me  of  a  picture  I  had 
seen  of  La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Merci." 

1  i  What  a  memory  you  have !  Yes,  yes,  the 
saddest  thing  about  it  all  is  that  I  haven't 
changed.  I  have  more  jewels.  That  is  all. 
Good-night,  my  dear.  I  am  coming  soon. ' ' 

"Good-night,  Mrs.  Ellis." 


296 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


THE  SMILE  OF  HEDDA  GABLER 

For  the  fifth  afternoon  within  the  fortnight 
following  the  supper  party  at  his  house  Paul 
sat  in  Sylvia's  little  sitting  room  in  the  Lons- 
dale  family  hotel,  taking  tea.  They  had  talked 
of  books,  of  plays,  a  little ;  of  her  ambitions 
for  the  future  a  great  deal.  Complainingly 
he  told  her  of  his  life ;  proudly  she  told  him 
of  hers. 

They  had  been  happiest  in  remembering 
their  boy  and  girl  days  in  Darbeyville.  But 
they  did  not  once  speak  of  the  Yale  Prome 
nade,  of  her  father's  failure,  of  the  breaking 
of  their  engagement. 

Today  Paul  sat  limply  in  a  low  arm  chair, 
his  long  legs  stretched  in  front  of  him.  His 
fund  of  reminiscences  seemed  to  be  exhausted, 
for  he  spoke  hardly  a  word ;  but  changelessly 

297, 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

he  kept  his  eyes  directed  upon  the  dark,  mo 
bile,  radiant  face  of  the  woman. 

She  told  him  of  her  good  fortune.  "Yes, 
today,  this  morning  I  signed  the  contract 
with  this  very  pen.  Next  season  I  will  be 
at  the  head  of  my  own  company  in  Frawly's 
theater.  You  don't  know  what  that  means 
— to  have  your  name  in  electric  lights  on 
Broadway.  It's  a  letter  of  introduction  to 
the  world;  it's  the  key  to  the  door  of  suc 
cess;  it's  like  making  the  team  at  college— 
you  have  a  chance  to  play  in  the  big  game. 
It's  Opportunity  knocking  and  beckoning. 
And,  by  the  eternal  powers,"  she  spoke  al 
most  savagely,  "I  ivill  make  good.  Nothing 
shall  stop  me — nothing,  nothing." 

"I  believe  you,  Sylvia." 

"Oh,  but  it  was  narrow!  It  makes  me 
shiver  to  think  how  narrow  it  was.  We  did 
no  business  the  first  two  weeks ;  the  third  we 
broke  even,  and  the  fourth  S.  B.  0.  was  out 
every  night.  If  it  had  been  a  three  weeks' 
engagement  instead  of  four,  where 'd  I  be 
now — where 'd  I  go?  Back  over  the  road  I 
have  traveled,  I  suppose — as  a  branded  fail 
ure." 

"I  am  glad  you  have  succeeded." 
298 


The  Smile  of  Hedda  Gabler 

* '  It 's  Leamington.  I  have  talent — yes,  that 
is  true.  I  have  a  great  deal.  But  he  had  to 
drive  me  to  bring  it  out.  I  was  getting  care 
less  and  listless,  when  he  took  hold  of  me. 
And  he  made  me.  I  am  made.  I  can  get  on 
by  myself  from  now  on.  Leamington's  a  great 
artist,  and  a  very  devoted,  unselfish  man." 

"Really!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Paul?  You 
just  sit  there  and  mumble  monosyllables. 
You've  let  me  run  on  for  over  an  hour  with 
nothing  but  occasional  perfunctory  interjec 
tions.  ' ' 

He  took  a  deep  breath,  rose  from  his  chair 
and  squared  his  shoulders.  "I  can't  talk  to 
you.  I  am  going  home,  now.  I  am  not  com 
ing  back,  either.  You  are  too  beautiful. 
Good-bye."  Kefusing  to  look  into  her  eyes, 
he  extended  his  hand. 

"Oh,  Paul!  Is  it  that?  I  am  so  sorry. 
Yes,  perhaps  then  it  is  better  for  you  to  go. 
Good-bye/'  She  spoke  gravely. 

But  when  the  door  closed  behind  him,  she 
smiled.  "Oh,  I  am  so  happy!"  she  said. 
* '  I  wonder  when  he  will  come  back  ? ' ' 

That  evening  he  wrote  her  a  long  letter  to 
say  that  he  would  not  see  her  again.  The 

299 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

next  evening  he  went  to  the  Harlem  Hall  of 
the  Muses,  where  the  Castleman  engagement 
had  been  extended  for  two  weeks. 

When  Sylvia — strong,  purposeful  Sylvia— 
caine  upon  the  stage,  as  Hedda,  the  coward 
and  self-doubter,  he  wondered  at  the  perfec 
tion  of  her  art.  The  strength  of  illusion 
which  she  was  able  to  throw  across  the  foot 
lights,  the  rapid  genius  with  which  she 
sketched  the  ugly  uncoilings  of  a  soul  so  un 
like  her  own,  amazed  and  bewildered  him.  He 
watched  her  through  the  act  with  growing 
fascination,  seeing  the  face  and  hearing  the 
lines  of  no  other  performer. 

When  the  curtain  fell,  he  passed  heedless 
of  the  bows  of  people  whom  he  knew,  out  to 
the  street.  He  walked  slowly  toward  his 
waiting  motor. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  find  a  flower  store 
open  at  this  time  of  night?"  he  asked  his 
machinist. 

"I  think  so,  monsieur." 

"Then  we'll  go  there."  He  bought  all  the 
long-stemmed  American  Beauties  in  the  shop 
— seven  dozen  of  them — and  put  them  into  a 
huge  box.  This  he  handed,  with  no  card,  in 
at  the  stage  door  for  Miss  Castleman. 
300 


The   Smile   of  Hedda   Gabler 

When  the  curtain  went  up  on  the  second 
act,  disclosing  Hedda  standing  before  the 
mirror,  loading  her  pistols,  Paul's  heart 
jumped,  for  a  red  rose  was  at  her  breast. 
As  the  actress  came  toward  the  audience, 
smiling  her  famous  slow  smile,  straight  at 
him,  she  touched  her  hand  to  the  flower,  as 
if  to  adjust  it,  and  smiled  again. 

Sylvia  bowed  right,  left  and  center  to  four 
curtain  calls  after  the  act,  but  each  time  her 
last  bow  was  to  him,  her  sweetest  slow  smile 
was  into  his  eyes.  "I  can't  stand  this,"  he 
muttered  to  himself,  choking.  "I  am  going 
home.  I  must  go  home. ' ' 

He  left  the  playhouse.  "You  drive  to 
night,  Duroc,"  said  he.  "I  don't  feel  like 
it.  Home,  please." 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

The  car  sped  south.  As  they  passed  One 
Hundredth  street,  the  master  quickly  spoke 
to  the  man.  "Oh,  I've  forgotten  something. 
I  must  go  back  to  the  theater.  And  please 
hurry. ' ' 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

The  motor  drew  up  before  the  stage  door 
in  the  alley.  Paul  jumped  out.  "Is  the  per 
formance  over?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

301 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"No,  sir,  not  for  half  an  hour  yet." 

"Half  an  hour.  Oh,  hell!"  he  said,  and 
fell  to  striding  up  and  down  upon  the  slip 
pery  cobblestones  of  the  alley,  frowning  in 
his  impatience. 

Sylvia  was  surprised  when  she  found  him 
waiting.  "I  thought  you  had  gone.  Your 
seat  was  empty  after  the  second  act.  And  I 
was  just  a  little  bit  disappointed." 

"Aren't  you  rather  warm?"  he  said.      * 

"Why,"  she  laughed,  "what  makes  you 
ask  such  a  funny  question  ? ' ' 

"I  thought  perhaps  a  drive  through  the 
park  might  cool  you  off  a  bit.  It  would  be 
good  for  you,  you  know." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  am  a  little  warm.  And 
thank  you. ' ' 

He  climbed  to  the  driver's  place,  took  the 
wheel  and  motioned  to  the  seat  beside  him. 
"Come  sit  here,  Sylvia;  there'll  be  nothing 
in  front  of  us  but  space  and  speed." 

As  he  was  throwing  in  his  reverse  clutch, 
to  back  out  of  the  alley,  Leamington,  tall,  thin 
and  gray,  came  out  of  the  stage  door  and 
stood  under  its  lamp.  "Oh,  Sylvia,  whither 
away?  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Potter?" 


302 


The  Smile   of  Hedda  Gabler 

1  'Just  for  a  little  drive.    It's  so  hot." 

Leamington  hesitated.  He  hoped  Potter 
would  invite  him ;  because  he  was  jealous  and 
afraid  for  the  woman.  He  put  his  foot,  as  if 
thoughtlessly,  on  the  step.  Paul  said  noth 
ing.  Neither  did  she. 

"Well,  good-night,  then."  The  actor 
walked  slowly  and  very  listlessly  out  of  the 
alley.  The  motor  cut  west  and  found  the 
Riverside  Drive. 

"Sylvia,  I  don't  know  what's  going  to 
happen  to  me,"  he  began  suddenly,  his  eyes 
straight  ahead,  "and  I  don't  particularly 
care.  I  have  this  drive  tonight,  with  you  be 
side  me.  I  have  made  a  mistake  with  my 
whole  life.  I  am  not  a  very  decent  fellow. 
I  have  done  many,  many  things  that  haven't 
been  decent.  I  don't  mean  merely  the  ordi 
nary  wickednesses.  I  mean  hypocrisy  and 
lying  and  cheating  and  cajoling.  My  whole 
life  since  I  came  here,  since  we  knew  each 
other  in  Darbeyville,  has  been  a  lie.  My 
smiles  have  been  lies,  my  handshakes  have 
been  lies,  my  kisses  have  been  lies.  I  loved 
you ;  and  I  lied  to  you  and  to  myself,  by  pre 
tending  I  did  not.  I  have  not  loved  other 


303 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

women;  but  I  lied  to  them  and  to  myself  by 
pretending  I  did,  and  here  I  am  now  a  suc 
cess,  God  save  the  word,  a  success  in  the  eyes 
of  our  home  people;  and  the  most  ghastly 
failure  that  ever  dragged  one  weary  day  after 
another.  But  such  as  I  am,  mean,  petty, 
trivial,  money-worshiping,  I  belong  to  you. 
I  may  never  see  you  again.  But  I  belong  to 
you.  You  may  not  want  me.  But  I  belong 
to  you — forever  and  forever." 

She  made  no  answer  for  a  long  time. 
Finally  she  spoke.  "I  meant  to  torture  you; 
I  meant  to  make  you  pay.  It's  a  weary,  long 
time  ago,  now;  but  you  were  cruel,  very 
cruel  once,  Paul.  You  know  that?" 
1  'God  forgive  me,  yes,  I  know  it." 
1  'And  now  when  I  met  you  here,  and  your 
wife  asked  me  to  supper,  I  went  out  of  curios 
ity  to  see  you  and  her  together.  And,  when 
in  driving  me  to  your  house,  you  began  to 
touch  the  borderland  of  sentiment,  I  meant 
that  Cynthia  Castleman,  the  pretty  actress, 
should  have  revenge  for  Sylvia  Castle,  the 
poor,  deluded,  wretched  girl.  You  nearly 
broke  her  heart,  you  know.  But,  in  some 
way,  vengeance  has  lost  its  zest.  I  don't 


304 


The   Smile   of  Hedda   Gabler 

want  to  make  you  pay,  any  more.  You  seem 
to  have  paid  already.  I  wish  you  well,  Paul ; 
I  wish  you  happiness." 

"Happiness  I  can  never  have  now,"  said 
he.  "I  know  it  can  do  you  no  good  to  tell 
you;  it  can  do  me  no  good;  but  I  love  you. 
Forever  and  forever  I  love  you.  In  this 
love  lies  my  only  chance  of  salvation,  my  only 
hope  for  cleanness." 

Memory  surged  across  the  years,  and 
again  he  took  her  imagination  captive.  The 
trap  of  delusion,  the  same  cruel  trap  which 
in  her  girlhood  had  lacerated  her,  was  freshly 
set  before  her,  ready  to  be  sprung.  But, 
yet  untaught,  once  more  she  approached  it. 

*  *  Oh,  Paul, ' '  she  gasped.  '  *  Take  me  home. 
I  don't  dare  stay  any  longer." 

At  the  door  she  said,  *  *  Good-night.  I  have 
been  so  happy — and  so  miserable.  It  is  bet 
ter  that  we  should  not  see  each  other  again. ' ' 

"Once  more — and  then  good-bye." 

"Just  once  more,  then." 

"To-morrow?" 

'  *  Yes — to-morrow. '  * 

"I'll  come  in  the  motor  at  ten.  We'll  go 
somewhere  out  in  the  country,  where  the  vio 
lets  grow,  somewhere  away  from  the  dirt  and 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

the  noise  and  the  people.  We  can  forget 
everything,  since  home.  We  can  be  children 
together  again — for  the  last  time." 

4 '  Yes — to-morrow — for  the  last  time.  Good 
night — dear." 


306 


CHAPTER  XXX 


THE  APOGEE 

They  had  found  a  little  weather-beaten^ 
long  unpainted  inn,  a  relic  of  coaching  days. 
Now  it  was  in  the  back  water  of  travel,  kept 
open  for  habit's  sake  by  its  ancient  owner. 
Few  passed  along  the  earth  turnpike  which 
led  by  it,  choosing  instead  the  new  macadam 
road  a  mile  to  the  east.  That  day  they  were 
the  only  guests. 

A  table  was  placed  for  them  under  newly 
blossoming  apple  trees.  The  warm,  lazy 
breeze  of  May  passed  and  paused,  passed 
and  paused  about  them,  exhorting  life. 

The  sleepy  German  waiter  dozed  while  they 
consulted  long  and  gravely  as  to  their  order. 
He  brought  them  white  breast  of  milk-fed 
chicken,  Jersey  milk  in  stone  mugs  with  pew 
ter  covers,  cottage  cheese,  and  strawberries. 
They  talked  of  the  beauty  of  the  blue  sky, 

307 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

the  pink  and  white  apple  blossoms,  the  new: 
green  oats  in  the  field  beyond — but  of  them 
selves  never  a  word. 

When  the  waiter  had  gone,  bowing  drow 
sily,  gutterally  grateful  for  his  fee,  Sylvia 
rested  her  elbows  upon  the  white  pine  table, 
and  looked  across  straight  into  Paul's  eyes. 
"Do  you  really  care?" 

"More  than  for  anything  in  the  world.  Is 
it  fair  that  because  I  was  a  blind  and  igno 
rant  boy  I  should  be  punished  for  it  all  my 
life?  Now  I  am  a  man;  I  see  clearly;  I 
know  you  for  the  woman  of  women  for  me— 
my  wonder-woman.  They  say  a  man  has 
three  love  affairs  in  his  life — when  he's 
twenty,  when  he's  thirty,  when  he's  forty. 
You  were  my  first,  you  are  my  second,  you 
will  be  my  third.  Tell  me  this — I  want  to 
hear  you  say  it:  You  did  care  once,  didn't 
you,  Sylvia?" 

"You  know  that." 

' '  Do  you  think  you  ever  could  again  ? ' ' 

"I  do  care,"  she  whispered.  "Oh,  don't 
let  us  talk  about  it  any  more.  It  is  too  ter 
rible — and  too  sweet." 

From  one  side  of  the  old  inn  the  land  sloped 
away  into  a  gentle  ravine.  Here  they  sat, 
308 


The  Apogee 

looking  upon  the  abundance  of  free  wild 
flowers,  white  triliums  and  purple  shooting 
stars,  scattered  thickly  under  the  shade  of 
the  declining  grove.  For  many  minutes  no 
word  passed;  then  he  began  solemnly, 
"Sylvia,  I  honor  and  respect  you  above  all 
women  in  the  world.  But  even  more,  I  love 
you — as  a  man  loves  a  woman. ' ' 

She  looked  upon  the  wild  flowers,  making 
no  answer.  "The  woman  who  bears  my 
name,"  he  went  on,  pleading,  "has  meant 
nothing  to  me  since  I  have  seen  you.  Do  not 
blame  yourself.  We  had  drifted  far  apart 
before  you  came  back  to  me.  I  cannot  say 
that  it  was  her  fault  more  than  mine ;  but  it 
was  all  a  mistake — a  fearful  mistake.  Every 
thing  has  been  a  mistake  since  you  went  out 
of  my  life." 

Still  she  spoke  no  word,  but  her  great  dark 
eyes  shone  with  happiness. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "the  time  will  come 
when  we  may  acknowledge  our  love,  boldly 
and  unashamed,  before  all  the  world.  That 
time  is  not  yet  now,  because  of  the  blunder 
of  a  boy.  But  don't  blast  everything  that's 
decent  in  me  forever  because  of  the  wicked 
folly  of  my  youth.  Even  if  now  before  men 

309 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

we  cannot  own  that  we  are  all  in  all  to  each 
other,  perfectly  married,  yet  in  the  sight 
of " 

"Oh,  don't,  don't  say  that  we  can  be  mar 
ried  as  truly  in  the  sight  of  God.  So  many 
men  have  said  that,"  she  broke  out,  half- 
hysterically. 

He  frowned.  "So  many  men!  What  do 
you  mean  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  please,  dear,  don't  misunderstand. 
Many  men  have  made  love  to  me  because  I 
was  only  a  player  and  a  pretty  woman — fair 
game  for  all  hunters.  So  I  have  learned  the 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  which  we  free 
women  all  must  learn.  I  knew  the  evil,  Paul ; 
that  is  why  I  am  a  woman,  instead  of  a  girl 
or  a  doll.  But  the  evil  never  touched  me. 
You  believe  me,  dear,  don't  you?"  she 
pleaded. 

Moodily  he  kept  the  silence. 

' '  I  have  fought  the  good  fight ;  I  have  kept 
the  faith,"  she  said.  "But  now — I  care." 

Slowly  he  bent  toward  her.  She  did  not 
move,  but  the  crimson  went  rioting  over  her 
face.  When  he  had  kissed  her,  she  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  whispered,  "Oh, 
Paul,  my  Paul,  it  has  been  so  long,  so  long." 
310 


The  Apogee 


Then  quickly  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  say 
ing,  "Come,  let  us  walk  a  little.  I  must  not 
sit  here  any  longer  now." 

Slowly  they  walked  back  and  forth  upon 
the  new,  tender,  bright  grass  of  May  under 
the  apple  blossoms.  "Sylvia,"  he  said,  in  a 
voice  hoarse  and  shaking  with  passion,  *  *  once 
in  our  lives,  only  once,  we  may  climb  to  the 
mountain  top."  His  eyes  were  burning, 
glowing.  "After  that,  and  before,  we  live 
on  the  low  slopes  or  in  the  valley.  You  are 
to  be  the  mountain  top  of  my  life,  its  culmina 
tion,  its  summit,  its  apogee.  This  is  our  des 
tiny.  And  I  will  have  you,  heart  of  my  heart, 
soul  of  my  soul." 

She  had  become  suddenly  pale,  but  un 
shrinkingly  and  most  steadfastly  her  eyes 
met  his. 

"Paul,  my  answer  is  yes.  I  give  it  un 
afraid  and  unashamed ;  for  you  are  the  only 
man  I  love,  the  only  man  I  have  ever  loved. ' ' 

She  paused  and  bowed  her  head  and  passed 
her  hand  over  her  eyes.  Her  breath  came 
slowly  through  her  half-opened  lips,  but  she 
was  breathing  to  the  bottom  of  her  lungs. 
Her  lips  were  diy. 

'  *  I  have  loved  you, ' '  she  said, '  *  for  all  these 
311 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

ten  years,  in  spite  of  my  strivings  to  keep  it 
down,  to  kill  it,  to  turn  it  into  hate  and  scorn 
and  contempt  for  you.  But  remember,  I  give 
you  everything.  You  are  to  be  my  whole 
life,  outside  of  the  theater.  This  is  forever 
— for  as  long  as  we  both  shall  live.  You  will 
be  true,  and,  dear  heart,  you  will  always— 
respect  me  ? "  Her  question  looked  out  from 
sacrificial  eyes. 

"On  my  soul." 

"We  must  not  do  this  under  the  blinding 
spell,  but  deliberately,  with  full  pre-vision  of 
all  that  it  means.  I  want  time  to  think  over, 
and  rejoice  in,  what  I  pay.  I  must  sanctify 
myself,  for  this  becomes  to  me  as  much  a 
sacrament  as  though  we  stood  before  the 
altar  together.  To-morrow  is  our  last  per 
formance  this  season.  After  that  I  am  going 
away  to  Europe  alone.  I  have  never  been 
in  Europe.  I  shall  be  back  in  the  second  week 
of  August  for  rehearsals.  Until  then,"  she 
said,  smiling  timidly,  "is  the  period  of  our 
betrothal.  And  know  that  while  I  am  away, 
I  shall  think  of  you  every  hour,  every  min 
ute,  every  second  while  I  am  awake;  that  I 
shall  dream  of  you  while  I  am  asleep." 

To  the  south  the  smoke  of  the  city  put  a 
312 


The  Apogee 


mighty  blot  upon  the  sky.  "Look,"  said  he, 
pointing  to  the  mark,  "there's  New  York — • 
New  York,  strong  enough  to  enslave  a  conti 
nent,  filthy  enough  to  poison  heaven  above." 

*  *  And  yet,  Paul, ' '  said  she,  '  *  would  you  go 
back  to  Darbey  ville  ?  I  wouldn't." 

"No,  I  couldn't  now.  The  virus  is  in  my 
blood.  But  often  I  wish  I  had  never  come. 
If  I  had  not  known  New  York,  she  could  not 
have  robbed  me  of  my  faith  in  men.  But 
now  that  I  know  her,  I  can  never  forsake 
her." 

He  was  exalted,  dematerialized.  His  terse 
city  speech  deserted  him.  He  spoke  in  meta 
phors  and  figures  of  vague  matters  of  the 
soul — subtle  sublimities.  He  saw  spread  out 
before  him  the  scroll  of  his  life.  He  mar 
veled  at  the  trivialities  written  thereon.  The 
petty  chicane  to  which  he  had  resorted  to 
further  his  business  of  gambling  became  in 
credible.  His  constant  little  quarrels  with 
Muriel  were  now  meaningless.  Their  depres 
sion  over  not  being  invited  to  one  house  was 
as  pitiable  as  their  exaltation  over  being  in 
vited  to  some  other  house.  His  fawning  to 
the  rich  revolted  him ;  the  lie  which  had  been 
his  whole  life  sickened  him.  His  envy,  ha- 

313 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

tred  and  malice  for  those  more  fortunate 
than  he,  shriveled  up.  For  the  first  time  in 
many  years  he  felt  kindliness  toward  all 
other  human  beings. 

Love  was  arousing  his  spirit  from  long, 
deaf  slumber. 


They  were  delayed  at  Kingsbridge,  and 
reached  the  theater  at  a  quarter  to  eight. 

Leamington  was  waiting  in  the  alley  for 
her.  "I  was  worried  when  you  did  not 
come,"  said  he.  "I  was  afraid  something 
might  have  happened  to  you.  But  I  am  glad 
you  are  perfectly  safe."  He  bowed  to  Pot 
ter,  without  speaking. 

"Oh  yes,  we  were  perfectly  safe,"  she  said, 
as  he  helped  her  alight  from  the  automobile. 
She  smiled  good-bye  to  Paul,  then  taking 
Leamington's  arm,  entered  the  theater. 

As  they  climbed  the  narrow  wooden  stairs 
side  by  side,  he  said,  "You  are  sure  you  are 
perfectly  safe,  dear?" 

She  laughed  and  ran  up  the  steps  to  her 
dressing  room  without  answering.  She  could 
not  lie  to  him. 


314 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


FRAWLY'S   NEWEST    CELEBRITY 

Paul  wished  to  drive  Sylvia  to  the  steam 
ship  wharf,  on  the  morning  of  her  sailing, 
but  she  refused.  "No,"  she  explained, 
"dear  old  Leamington  has  ordered  a  huge 
carriage  to  take  me  all  the  way  from  the 
hotel  to  the  steamer,  and  he  would  be  disap 
pointed.  I  give  you  so  much  and  this  is  very 
little  to  give  him.  But  come  to  the  boat  and 
say  good-bye. ' ' 

When  the  porter  slammed  the  carriage  door 
behind  them,  and  the  heavy  vehicle  rumbled 
slowly  east  toward  the  boulevard,  the  actor 
sighed,  "Ah,  well,  little  girl;  this  is  your 
Commencement  Day.  You  are  going  out  into 
the  world  away  from  me.  Almost  I  could 
deliver  a  Baccalaureate  sermon  to  you,  were 
I  not  so  sad." 

She  placed  her  white,  smooth  hand  upon  his 
315 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

veined,  bony  one.  ' '  Dear  teacher, ' '  she  said, 
"I  will  never  go  away  from  you.  We  shall 
always  work  together.  But  often  I  feel  like 
a  vampire,  drawing  my  life  from  you.  You 
have  taught  me  and  formed  me  and  made  me. 
And  what  have  I  returned  to  you?  This  lit 
tle  season,  this  little  six  weeks  in  New  York, 
how  wonderful  it  has  been,  how  wonderful 
the  last  half  of  it  has  been,  when  people 
learned  of  us  and  came  and  understood.  But 
it  has  not  been  fair.  It  was  your  work,  your 
thought,  your  spirit  which  alone  made  it  all 
possible,  which  animated  anything.  And  yet 
you  have  kept  in  the  background.  You  gave 
me  the  credit  and  the  glory;  you  made  me 
the  star.  You  should  have  been  the  star.  I 
should  have  supported  you,  instead  of  you 
«upporting  me.  You  are  the  greater  artist. 
You  were  the  soul  of  it  all." 

He  smiled.  "No,  dear.  I  know  what  you 
mean ;  and  I  thank  you.  But  you  are  young 
and  strong  and  growing.  I  am  old  and  weak 
and  declining.  Perhaps  it  might,  of  right, 
have  been  as  you  say  for  this  little  six  weeks. 
But  next  year,  or  the  year  after,  it  was  bound 
to  be  as  it  is  now.  I  foresaw;  that  is  all. 
I  am  but  a  patched-up  man,  patched-up  by 
316 


Frawly's   Newest   Celebrity 

you,  living  only  for  you  to  be  perfected  and 
completely  strong,  waiting  only  to  give  you 
everything  that  is  possible  before  I  fall  apart 
again.  When  I  have  nothing  more  to  offer 
you,  when  you  have  learned  all  I  know,  then 
my  usefulness  ceases.  I  vanish.  The  life- 
force  pushes  you  up;  life  decayed  will  pull 
me  down.  It  is  the  law." 

The  woman  wept.  "Oh,  you  mustn't,  you 
shan't  talk  so.  For  I  love  you  dearly.  You 
have  meant  so  much  to  me." 

* '  You  love  me  ? "  he  asked,  very  gravely. 

"I  love  you — as  a  daughter  loves  her 
father." 

He  sighed  again.  "I  cannot  answer  that. 
I  said  two  years  ago  that  I  would  never  tell 
you  again  that  I  loved  you  as  man  loves 
woman.  And  I  have  kept  my  promise — 
haven't  I,  dear!" 

She  bowed  her  head  in  acquiescence. 

' '  But  whether  I  tell  you  or  not — I  ask  this 
because  you  are  going  away,  perhaps  forever, 
from  me — you  will  understand,  even  in  my 
silence?" 

Again  she  bowed  her  head. 

"Well,  that's  settled  then,"  he  said,  with 
complete  change  of  tone.  "Let  us  talk  busi- 

317 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

ness.  Here  is  an  acting  edition  of  L'Ouvriere, 
with  which  Frawly  has  finally  decided  we  are 
to  open.  It  is  a  hard  play  and  you  have  a 
very  hard  part.  Don't  look  at  it  for  two 
weeks.  Get  a  good  rest  and  let-down,  before 
you  begin  your  work  again.  I  have  the  book 
all  marked  up  and  interlined.  I  think  Su 
zanne  understands,  when  she  sees  Frederic 
and  Clotilde  together  in  the  first  act.  The 
whole  character  from  then  on  seems  weaker 
to  me  if  she  doesn't.  But  Frawly  maintains 
she  doesn't  know  until  she  gets  the  letter.  I 
leave  it  to  you.  It's  your  part — and  the  play 
Jiangs  on  it.  Last  year  I  would  have  insisted. 
This  year,  I  can  insist  on  nothing.  Next  year, 
if  I  am  still  alive,  you  will  do  the  insisting 
and  I  shall  have  to  obey.  Sic  transit  gloria." 
He  looked  very  old. 

So  they  talked  of  the  theater  until  the 
hoofs  of  the  tired  livery  horses  rattled  upor- 
the  wooden  planks  of  the  long  wide  pier. 

Paul  was  waiting  for  her  with  fruit,  flowers, 
books.  Frawly,  too,  was  there;  and  his  dex 
terous  press  bureau  had  been  already  at 
work,  for  half  a  dozen  reporters  had  been 
sent  by  their  city  editors  to  ask  variously 
whether  Herr  Hauptmann  had  asked  her  to 
318 


Frawly's   Newest   Celebrity 

visit  him  at  his  German  country  place; 
whether  she  was  going  to  study  the  working 
girls  of  Paris  the  better  to  interpret  L'Ou- 
vriere;  if  she  had  quarreled  with  Filon,  the 
author  of  tljie  play;  and  if  she  had  been  or 
dered  to  see  Nubermann,  the  great  Viennese 
heart  specialist,  before  venturing  the  part  of 
Suzanne. 

She  started  to  give  amazed,  laughing 
"Noes"  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  press,  when 
Frawly  stopped  her.  *  *  Don 't  gum  the  game, ' ' 
he  whispered.  "These  young  men  swing  a 
big  line  in  our  business.  Be  polite;  oh,  be 
devilish  polite  to  them — but  mysterious,  very 
mysterious.  You  won't  fool  'em  that  way, 
but  it'll  make  better  stories  for  'em,  and 
they  '11  treat  you  right. ' '  He  chuckled.  *  *  And 
when  six  of  'em  come  down  to  the  boat  to 
transcribe  your  final  adieus  before  embark 
ation,  you  can  bet  your  foot's  on  the  ladder. 
I  expect  you'll  be  taking  a  company  over  to 
the  other  side  before  long." 

She  was  able  to  see  Paul  alone  for  but  a 
minute.  When  the  cry  rang  out,  "All  ashore 
that's  not  going  aboard,"  she  whispered 
"Good-bye,  dear  heart;  write  often;  I  am 
coming  back  soon." 

319 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


IN  THE  GAY  SET 

With  the  blue  water  rolling  between  them, 
Paul  gradually  came  back  to  himself.  He 
had  climbed  to  the  mountain  top,  but  he 
could  not  dwell  there.  Reluctantly  he  de 
scended,  turning  often  to  look  back  at  the 
slowly  receding  summit  of  his  life. 

The  fever  of  the  game  of  the  street  pre 
vailed  over  the  other  fever  which  had  burned 
through  him.  His  being  became  centered  as 
before  in  the  shouts  of  the  croupiers,  the 
pleadings  of  the  cappers,  the  simplicity  of 
the  players  and  the  whirrings  of  the  wheel 
of  Monte  Carlo's  elder  brother. 

When  by  chance  he  spied  two  or  three  of 
the  master  gamblers  nodding  heads  in  a  cor 
ner,  he  sidled  near  in  the  ever  fresh  hope 
that  he  might  discover  which  of  the  new 
silver  faro  boxes  recently  set  up  in  the  domed 
320 


In   the   Gay   Set 


and  gilded  hall  was  theirs,  and  with  what 
latest  device  it  had  been  braced  to  deal  for 
them;  so  that  as  they  fleeced  the  vast  coun 
try-wide  mob  of  dollars,  he  might  cull  of 
their  careless  leavings  a  few  stray  pennies. 
For  Muriel,  at  Newport,  asked  many  pennies. 

He  spent  most  of  his  time  in  New  York, 
living  at  his  club.  Every  other  week  he 
joined  his  wife  at  the  summer  playground  of 
the  rich,  staying  Saturday  and  Sunday. 

He  had  learned  that  it  availed  him  nothing 
to  urge  economy  on  her.  He  wrung  all  that 
he  could  from  the  hopes  of  those  who  wanted 
to  get  rich  without  work;  and  of  his  win 
nings  he  sent  to  Muriel  all  that  he  could 
spare.  But  she  always  anticipated  his  re 
mittances  and  overspent  his  winnings  in  ad 
vance.  Debt  became  his  roommate,  and  with 
steady  sneering  menace  kept  him  hollow-eyed 
and  fretful  through  the  hot  summer. 

Wearied  out  with  a  week's  bad  luck,  he 
alighted  from  the  train  at  Newport  one  dusty 
afternoon.  He  handed  his  trunk  check  and 
his  portmanteau  to  the  servant  who  met  him ; 
then,  for  the  sake  of  the  fresh  ocean  air, 
walked  slowly,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  toward  his 
temporary,  extravagant  summer  home.  Grey 

321 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

had  come  into  his  hair,  elasticity  was  leaving 
his  step,  the  lines  in  his  face  were  deep.  As 
the  gaudy  dragon-fly  people  flashed  by  him 
in  motor  cars,  or  behind  sleek  horses,  he 
bowed  to  them,  listlessly. 

He  entered  the  darkened  hall  of  the  Such- 
ers'  house  and  made  his  way  to  the  grassed 
terrace  behind,  where  he  found  his  wife 
slowly  fanning  herself  with  a  great  peacock 
fan,  indolently  smiling,  her  eyes  half  closed, 
her  little  white  canvas  shoes  crossed  on  the 
foot  of  the  long  chair  in  which  she  was  re 
clining.  Leaning  forward  toward  her,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees,  was  Jim  Ellis.  Two  tall 
frosted  silver  tumblers  topped  with  green 
leaves  of  mint  stood  between  them  on  a  low 
brass  Turkish  table. 

"Hello,  Paul,"  said  Muriel,  cheerfully,  but 
without  moving  from  her  comfortable  posi 
tion.  « '  Isn  't  it  frightfully  hot ! ' ' 

"Hello;  hello,  Jim,"  he  replied.  "I'm 
fearfully  tired.  I  think  I'll  lie  down  for  an 
hour.  Please  don't  let  me  be  disturbed. 
Everything  all  right?" 

"Yes.  We  dine  at  Wildmerding's  to 
night." 

When  the  dinner  was  over  the  guests  sat 
322 


In  the   Gay  Set 


down  to  bridge.  Paul  was  cut  out  for  the 
first  rubber,  and  as  he  stood  behind  the  Blite- 
Favereux-Ellis  table  watching  the  play,  Carl 
touched  him  on  the  elbow :  ' '  Come,  old  man ; 
let's  go  out."  They  went  to  the  huge  stone 
open-room,  which  ran  half  the  length  of  the 
house  on  the  ground  floor,  overlooking  the 
sea. 

They  sat  together  in  the  low  divan  swung 
from  the  ceiling  by  Siamese  chains,  the  links 
in  the  form  of  elephants.  The  lights  from 
their  cigars  glowed  red  in  the  darkness. 

Finally  Carl  broke  the  silence.  "It's  get 
ting  pretty  tiresome.  Same  old  people ;  same 
old  food  and  same  old  booze ;  same  old  bridge ; 
same  old  racket;  same  old  staying  up  all 
night;  same  old  horrible,  deadly,  changeless 
boredom.  I've  lost  interest.  It's  all  over 
with  me,  inside  of  me.  Nothing  matters 
much,  anyway ;  at  least  nothing  around  here. 
I  don't  even  give  a  damn  any  longer  how 
much  that  man  Alaire  hangs  around  the 
house ;  nor  how  much  people  laugh  at  me  for 
it."  He  became  more  animated.  "Do  you 
know,  I  seriously  think  of  chucking  it  all, 
everything,  and  going  back  to  Blanche  and 
marrying  her.  Anita 'd  marry  Alaire  now, 

333 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

if  she  could  bear  to  think  of  losing  father's 
money.  We  'd  all  be  happier  that  way.  Why 
not?  Sometimes,  on  the  level,  I  think  I  will." 

"And  throw  away  one  of  the  greatest  for 
tunes  in  the  world?  No,  my  son;  you  may 
think  of  it  sometimes,  but  you'll  never  do  it." 

Carl  smiled  unhappily.  "No,  I  suppose 
not.  I'd  like  to  mighty  well,  though." 

The  tall,  slender,  black-gowned  figure  of 
a  woman  appeared  in  the  lighted  doorway, 
then  moved  toward  the  swinging  divan  where 
the  two  men  sat.  "I  thought  you  boys  were 
out  here ;  so  I  came  to  talk  to  you.  I  am  sick 
of  bridge,  and  generally  blue.  Please  be 
agreeable,  and  cheer  me  up. ' ' 

"Hello,  Katharine,"  said  Carl,  moving 
over.  "Sit  down  here;  there's  lots  of  room. 
We  need  cheering  up  just  as  much  as  you. 
We've  been  fearfully  lugubrious.  Let's  make 
this  a  mourner's  bench." 

She  lit  a  cigarette,  inhaling  deeply  and  ex 
haling  rapidly  the  first  few  puffs.  "My 
trouble,"  she  said,  "is  the  same  it  always 
has  been — poor  health.  The  specialist  told 
me  yesterday  that  I  had  a  distinct  diathesis 
toward  neurasthenia,  and  that  it  would  cul 
minate  in  an  acute  form  unless  I  went  to  the 
324 


In   the   Gay  Set 


rest  cure  again.  That  will  be  the  third  time 
within  two  years,  and  I  am  getting  bored 
with  it.  What's  the  use  of  dragging  along 
through  life  a  half  -invalid  I  I  never  had  a 
chance.  I  was  damned  before  I  was  born. 
And  do  you  know,"  she  lowered  her  voice, 
"it  is  only  fair  to  think  that  about  poor 
Billy.  He  was  born  weak  and  sickly — and 
queer.  Truly,  it's  a  blessing  that  he  went 
as  suddenly  and  quietly  and  painlessly  as  he 
did,  without  any  dreadful  scandal.  Billy  al 
ways  had  a  moral  twist.  He  wasn't  respon 
sible." 

"Well,  by  gad!"  exclaimed  Paul,  "this 
business  of  nerves  is  hitting  the  men  just 
about  as  badly.  I  went  to  Dr.  Dunleavy  in 
town  the  other  day,  and  he  said  I  was  on 
the  verge  of  a  smash.  I  can't  hold  my  hand 
steady  to  save  my  life,  and  I  can't  lay  it  to 
heredity.  Neither  can  a  lot  of  other  wrecks. 
It's  the  life — the  environment." 

"Jolly  party  we're  having,"  said  Carl, 
grimly.  "The  truth  is  that  the  whole  struc 
ture  is  rotten  through  and  through ;  and  it  is 
going  to  fall — like  the  House  of  Usher." 

Paul  rose  with  a  short  laugh,  and,  taking 
Katherine  Ellis'  hands,  helped  her  to  her 

325 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

feet.  "We're  overdoing  the  gloom,"  said 
he.  "Come  on,  Carl,  let's  get  a  drink  and 
cut  into  a  game.  What  can't  be  cured  must 
be  endured.  Here  we  are — and  here  we  stay 
until  the  end  of  the  chapter.  So  let's  make 
the  best  of  our  rest-cures  and  our  money. 
Everybody  else  in  the  country  is  keen  enough 
to  change  places  with  us,  anyway." 

Two  nights  later  Paul  lay  in  his  room  at 
the  Handball  Club,  awake.  The  hot,  ex 
hausted  air  of  the  city  entering  his  open  win 
dow  brought  with  it  the  noises  of  New  York 's 
night.  To  his  taut  nerves,  the  clang  of  the 
trolley  gong,  the  rail-sliding  of  the  suddenly 
braked  car,  the  hum-m,  hum-m  of  the  merged 
noise  of  the  sidewalk  crowds,  the  clat-clat- 
clat-clatter  of  trotting  feet  upon  the  hard 
pavement,  the  roar  of  the  elevated  on  Sixth 
avenue,  became  so  enraging  and  unforgivable 
that  he  suddenly  sat  up  in  bed,  shaking  his 
fist  and  pleading  piteously.  "Oh,  can't  you 
keep  still;  for  I've  got  to  sleep;  I  must 
sleep." 

He  looked  beseechingly  toward  the  window 
where  the  noise  entered,  and  there,  sitting 
on  the  sill,  he  saw  Debt,  which,  huger  and 


326 


In   the   Gay   Set 


more  menacing  than  ever,  leered  and  laughed 
and  pointed  its  finger  at  him. 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  sweating  fore 
head.  "The  Lord  knows  that  I  don't  believe 
in  this  stuff,"  he  explained  to  himself,  "but 
I've  got  to  sleep;  I  must  sleep." 

He  opened  three  powders,  taking  a  triple 
dose,  and  soon  fell  off  into  heavy  torpor.  By 
and  by  it  seemed  to  him  that  far  away  he 
heard  the  faint  noise  of  a  cowbell  coming 
nearer,  from  the  woods.  His  ear  could  barely 
distinguish  the  quiet  tinkle-tinkle  from  the 
sound  of  the  swaying  green  leaves  above  him. 
Then  he  awakened  with  the  clattering  din  of 
the  telephone  in  his  ear.  He  took  down  the 
receiver.  "Who  is  it?" 

"This  is  the  New  York  Inquirer,"  said  a 
bass  voice. 

* '  Well,  what  in  Cain  do  you  mean  by  wak 
ing  me  up  ? "  snarled  Paul. 

The  bass  voice  said:  "We  have  bad  news, 
Mr.  Potter.  Have  you  heard  it,  as  yet  1 ' ' 

"  No ;  what  is  it  ?  Be  quick,  you  are  inter 
rupting  my  sleep." 

"Mrs.  Potter  was  seriously  injured  while 
automobiling  tonight." 

"What  do  you  mean?    How  seriously?" 
327 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"She  has  been  killed — instantly  and  pain 
lessly.'* 

The  receiver  shook  in  Paul's  hand.  He 
answered  nothing. 

"Hello,"  said  the  voice. 

"Hello." 

''Mrs.  Potter  was — but  can  you  tell  us 
where  to  locate  Mr.  Harvey  Ellis?  We  have 
been  unable  to  locate  him  as  yet." 

"Why?" 

"Because  his  son,  Mr.  James  Ellis,  was 
involved  in  the  same  accident.  His  automo 
bile  was  run  into  by  the  Night  Express  at 
the  Grand  Crossing  at  Second  Field,  fifteen 
miles  from  Newport." 

"What  happened  to  him?" 

"He  was  killed,"  said  the  bass  voice. 

"And  the  other  people  in  the  car?" 

"There  were  no  others.  The — ah — in  fact 
• — Mr.  Ellis  and  Mrs.  Potter  were  in  his  two- 
seated  racing  car. ' ' 

"What  time  did  it  happen?" 

"About  an  hour  ago,  shortly  after  mid 
night." 

"Good  night,"  said  Paul,  abruptly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Potter,"  said  the  bass  voice. 
"In  view  of  your  near  relationship  to  one 
328 


In   the   Gay   Set 


of  the  parties,  we  should  like  to  have  some 
statement  from  you  in  regard  to  the  sad 
affair." 

"Statement.  I  have  no  statement  to 
make. ' ' 

' '  But  the  public, ' '  said  the  deep  bass  voice, 
"  would  naturally  expect,  would  be  deeply 
interested  to  hear  what  you— 

Paul  hung  up  the  receiver.  Then  he  rang 
for  a  boy.  *  *  Tell  the  switchboard  downstairs 
under  no  circumstances  to  put  anybody,  any 
body,  on  my  wire,  until  I  come  down  in  the 
morning.  And  nobody  is  to  knock  on  my 
door  for  any  purpose,  short  of  fire  in  the 
building.  You  understand?" 

"  Yes,  "sir." 

Paul  threw  himself  back  on  the  bed. 
Quickly  the  three  powders  mastered  him 
again,  and  he  fell  off  to  sleep. 

When  in  the  morning  he  went  to  the  break 
fast  room,  the  few  men  there  looked  curiously 
at  him,  but  he  nodded  curtly  to  them,  dis 
couraging  conversation. 

The  papers  carried  little  else  on  the  first 
page  that  July  day.  With  minute  detail  they 
were  able  to  spread  in  their  city  extra  edi 
tions  the  story  of  the  solitary  dinner  of  James 

329 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

Ellis  and  Muriel  Potter  at  the  Green  Gage 
Inn,  at  Bellknap,  ten  miles  north  of  Second 
Field,  on  the  Automobile  Road;  how  they 
had  consumed  four  cocktails,  three  pints  of 
champagne  and  three  cognacs  (one  enterpris 
ing  reporter  had  telegraphed  to  his  paper  a 
copy  of  the  bill  for  dinner) ;  how,  after  re 
maining  at  the  inn  until  about  half  past  eleven 
o  'clock  they  had  started  away  in  the  machine ; 
how  they  had  had  tire  trouble  before  reach 
ing  Second  Field;  and  finally,  how,  at  that 
station,  Ellis  had  striven  to  rush  the  track,- 
ahead  of  the  oncoming  locomotive,  in  spite  of 
its  whistling. 

The  bodies  were  brought  to  New  York  for 
interment.  Muriel  was  laid  in  the  ancient 
burial  lot  of  the  Devereux.  Jim  was  the  first 
of  his  line  to  rest  in  the  enormous,  shining, 
new,  white  marble  mausoleum  of  the  Ellises. 

Paul  ordered  from  his  tailor  enough  black 
clothes  to  last  him  a  twelvemonth. 


330 


CHAPTER  XXXHI 


"DIAMONDS  AND  PEARLS" 

''Do  not  meet  me  at  the  dock,  dear,"  Syl 
via  had  written,  "for  there  will  be  so  many 
other  people  there  to  see  me.  Come  to  my 
apartment  the  evening  of  the  day  I  land,  and 
we  shall  be  alone." 

At  nine  o'clock  Paul's  motor  drew  up  west 
of  Fifth  avenue,  in  one  of  the  lower  fifties, 
before  the  newly  finished  tall  white  building 
where  Sylvia  had  taken  her  comfortable  lodg 
ings  for  the  coming  year. 

"Shall  I  wait!"  asked  the  driver. 

Paul  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  an 
swered,  * '  No ;  good  night,  Duroc. ' ' 

"Good  night,  monsieur." 

A  pretty,  pink-cheeked  maid  in  cap  and 
apron  opened  the  door  to  his  ring.  She  led 
him  down  the  narrow  hall,  to  the  broad  sit 
ting-room  which  ran  across  the  entire  front 

331 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

of  the  apartment.  ''Mr.  Potter,"  she  an 
nounced,  and  withdrew. 

Sylvia  looked  at  him  timidly :  * '  How  pale 
you  are,"  she  said,  "and  drawn  and  sombre. 
It  was  terrible,  terrible.  No  wonder  you 
look  ill."  But  the  fire  was  running  through 
her  veins  as  she  spoke  her  necessary,  con 
ventional  condolences. 

"No,  it  wasn't  what  happened,  or  the  way 
it  happened.  It  was  overwork — and  for  her," 
he  answered,  between  his  shut  teeth.  "But, 
dear,  I  am  so  glad  to  be  with  you  again. 
Now  we  shall  be  happy." 

She  placed  her  long  white  arms  about  his 
neck,  drew  his  face  to  hers  and  kissed  him. 
"I  love  you.  Oh,  I  love  you,"  she  whis 
pered.  "At  last  we  shall  be  together — as  it 
was  destined  from  the  beginning.  Oh,  Paul," 
she  said,  "this  has  been  so  wonderful  a  sum 
mer  for  me.  I  never  dreamed  before  that 
there  was  so  much  beauty  in  the  world.  I 
had  never  known  before  anything  but  bare 
outlines,  colorless  drawings,  and  now  I  am 
always  surrounded  by  glorious  paintings  of 
richest,  royal  pigments.  I  am  hearing  al 
ways  the  deep,  elemental,  mighty  melody  of 
life.  Oh,  I  cannot  explain  it,"  she  broke 
332 


"Diamonds  and   Pearls" 

off  helplessly.  "Try  to  understand  for  me. 
Life  means  so  much  now  that  I  never  knew 
before.  It  is  such  a  happy  thing." 

She  was  very  beautiful,  as  she  stood,  lithe 
and  supple,  before  him,  in  softest  clinging 
mauve,  her  blue-black  hair  piled  heavily  upon 
her  head,  the  lovelight  shining  from  her  glo 
rious  dark  eyes. 

"My  woman,"  he  whispered,  drawing  her 
to  him,  "forever  and  forever." 

"Yes,  forever  and  forever,  dear,"  she  an 
swered;  "and,  beloved,  I  want  to  go  again 
to  those  wonderful  places  I  saw  this  summer. 
I  want  to  go  again  with  you — on  our  wed 
ding  trip."  The  rich  color  leaped  to  her 
cheeks. 

"Yes,  yes,  dear,"  he  replied,  drawing  a 
chair  up  for  her  and  walking  slowly  to  the 
window,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "Our  wed 
ding  trip?"  he  repeated. 

* ;  Yes ;  and  even  though  it  is  wicked,  I  can 
not  pretend  that  I  am  sorry  she  is  dead.  I 
would  not  have  had  her  die  as  she  did,  for 
your  sake;  but  she  came  between  first  of  all 
with  her  lies  and  her  purrings  and  her  glitter. 
Now  she  has  given  you  back  to  me,  to  be  mine 
in  the  face  of  the  world.  You  don't  know 

333 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

how  I  have  sometimes  trembled  for  the  prom 
ise  I  made  you.  But  I  never  weakened.  I 
would  have  kept  my  promise,  I  always  meant 
to  keep  it — if  there  had  been  no  other  way. 
But  now,  it  can  be  as  it  ought  to  be.  There 
shall  be  nothing  to  hide,  nothing  to  shame 
us.  We  need  only  wait  a  little  longer." 

Still  standing  by  the  open  window,  he  lit 
a  cigarette,  and  stood  silently  watching  the 
smoke  curl  out  into  the  night  air.  * '  Must  we 
wait?"  he  asked,  slowly. 

"You  know  we  must,  dear,"  she  said,  in 
surprise.  "The  world  would  misunderstand 
if  we  were  married  within  a  year  of  her 
death." 

"Oh,  the  world,  the  world.  I  thought  you 
were  big  enough  and  brave  enough  to  give 
not  a  fig  for  the  world."  He  turned  from 
the  window  and  faced  her. 

She  looked  quickly  at  him:  "I  am  a  good 
woman,  Paul,  and  I  do  care  for  my  good 
name.  I  promised  you  what  I  did,  because 
that  seemed  the  only  way.  But  now  there  is 
a  cleaner,  straighter  way,  without  conceal 
ment.  Surely,  you  do  not  expect  me  cause 
lessly  and  wantonly  to  offend  the  world  where 
I  must  always  live.  Surely,  you  know  I  could 
334 


"Diamonds   and   Pearls" 

not  recover  the  esteem  of  people  if  we  were 
to  be  married  now.  And  neither  could  you, 
dear,  for  a  long  time." 

He  frowned.  "Marriage!"  he  exclaimed, 
' '  is  that  necessary  ?  The  world  that  you  seem 
to  fear  so  much  will  not  be  shocked  if  it 
does  not  know." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Not  marriage — not 
marriage — now,  when  there  is  no  obstacle?" 

"Oh,  for  us,"  said  he,  with  an  attempt  at 
ease,  "it  would  seem  rather  a  foolish  con 
cession  to  convention,  that  would  waste  much 
precious  time — sweetheart. ' ' 

* '  Don 't  call  me  that  until  I  know  what  you 
mean.  What  do  you  mean?"  Her  face  was 
flaming. 

' '  Surely,  that 's  plain, ' '  said  he,  leaning  his 
elbow  upon  the  mantelpiece  and  looking  at 
her  from  half -closed  eyes. 

The  scarlet  left  her  cheeks.  She  smiled 
at  him.  "And  so,  Paul,  you  can't  bear  to 
think  of  waiting  another  long  year  for  me? 
You  want  me  to  live  with  you  now,  your  wife 
in  the  sight  of  God  ?  The  mumbling  of  a  few 
words  over  us  by  priest  or  parson  could 
neither  bind  us  more  eternally  nor  sanctify 
with  greater  holiness  our  grand  passion?  It 

335 


A    Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

would  be  a  tenderer,  truer  union,  perhaps 
more — oh,  romantic  or  whatever  you  call  it— 
to  keep  our  love  a  secret  from  the  whole  pry 
ing  outside  world?  Is  that  what  you  think?" 

"Yes,  dear,  really  I  do.  Don't  you?"  His 
face  was  alight  with  anticipation. 

"And  there  must  be  more  practical  rea 
sons,  too,"  she  continued,  gently.  "I  sup 
pose  that  being  married  to  a  professional 
actress  would  not  especially  help  your — er— 
social  position.  Your  friends  consider  actors 
hardly  as  equals.  Come,"  she  smiled,  "it 
will  not  hurt  my  feelings.  Tell  me,  is  that 
not  so?" 

"In  a  way,  perhaps,"  he  admitted.  "It  is 
rather  narrow  of  them,  of  course.  But,"  he 
said,  to  reassure  her,  "you  know  better  than 
anyone  that  I  have  no  such  silly  notions 
about  you.  You  are  the  finest  woman  I 
know.  I  could  not  even  for  a  second  enter 
tain  such  an  idea  about  you.  You  are  so 
different  from  other  people  of  the  stage." 

' '  But  your  society  friends  who,  as  you  say, 
generally  do  have  such  a  feeling  about  us, 
might  not  be  able,  like  you,  to  discriminate, 
to  single  me  out  from  the  general  run  of 
player-folk  with  whom  I  work  and  travel  and 
33G 


"Diamonds  and   Pearls" 

triumph  and  fail ;  with  whom  my  life  is  lived, 
and  will  be  lived;  for  even  if  we  were  mar 
ried  I  should  keep  on  acting.  Your  society 
friends  might  believe  that  birds  of  a  feather 
-?"  She  broke  off,  smiling  gently  at  him. 

"I  am  afraid  that  might  be  true,  dear — to 
be  frank." 

"Perhaps,"  she  purred,  "you  would  not 
be  invited  to  some  places  where  you  now  go, 
because  they  would  not  invite  me!  Though 
they  have  sometimes  asked  me  as  a  curiosity, 
they  would  hardly  accept  me  on  even  terms 
as  one  of  themselves?" 

"I  am  afraid  that  might  be  true,"  he  re 
peated.  "And  then,  consider  your  own  wel 
fare.  There  is  no  doubt  that  marriage  re 
moves  some  of  the  glamor  attaching  to  a 
young  actress — and  I  should  hate  to  think 
that  I  had  interfered  even  in  the  remotest 
way  with  a  career  which  ought  to  be  so 
splendid." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  mind  that,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  depend  entirely  on  glamor.  There 
is  a  little  more  to  me  than  glamor." 

"Really,  dearest,"  he  spoke  masterfully 
and  decisively,  as  man  should  speak  to  sweet, 
complaining  woman,  "you  must  trust  me.  I 

337 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

think  the  way  I  propose  is  much  wiser — for 
both  of  us." 

The  debacle  of  her  lifelong  illusion  was 
accomplished  in  that  instant.  The  scarlet 
rushed  back  to  her  cheeks ;  her  nostrils  flared ; 
her  eyes  shot  lava  terrors  at  him. 

"Let  me  only  thank  you  for  one  thing — 
that  I  found  you  out  in  time—  ' '  she  began. 

'  *  But, ' '  stammered  Paul ;  '  *  Sylvia,  you— 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  you  cur,"  she  thun 
dered.  ' '  Hear  what  I  have  to  say — then  go ! 
I  know  you,  at  last.  It  was  time.  Behind 
your  man's  face  is  the  brain  of  a  slavish 
sycophant;  within  your  athlete's  great  body 
is  the  heart  of  a  cringing,  shrinking  coward. 
You  talked  to  me  of  courage ;  you,  you,  dared 
to  talk  to  me  of  courage,  when  you  have  no 
more  bravery  in  you  than  the  canary  in  that 
cage.  You  talked  to  me  of  love.  It  has  been 
lust  you  felt."  She  raised  her  hands  above 
her,  looking  up  with  pitiable  eyes.  "Ah, 
God,  to  think  that  even  in  such  a  leprous  soul 
as  his  I  should  have  been  able  to  inspire 
nothing  but  lust." 

"You  don't  understand,"  he  began. 

' '  Be  quiet ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  You  say  you  fear 
I  might  interfere  with  your  social  position. 
338 


IlRAR    WHAT    I    HAVE    TO    SAY  — THEN    CO. 


^Diamonds  and   Pearls" 

Social  position!"  Her  words  volleyed  forth. 
"What  is  it  you  mean,  but  the  chance  to  go 
to  the  garish,  vulgar  houses  of  sure-thing 
gamblers,  to  guzzle  yourself  stupid  and  talk 
putrid  pseudo-sentiment  to  their  empty-pated 
doll-women?  You  are  a  cheap  little  tout, 
Potter,  whose  business  in  life  is  to  pull  in 
victims  for  the  operators  of  gigantic  confi 
dence  games " 

Once  more  he  started  to  speak,  but  she 
raised  her  hand,  furiously,  for  silence. 

"You  live  uselessly.  The  world  were  bet 
ter  without  you.  You  should  be  swept  away, 
you  and  those  like  you."  Her  deep  rushing 
contralto  overwhelmed  his  interruptions. 
"You  add  not  one  jot  of  knowledge  or  wis 
dom  or  happiness  or  wealth  or  health  or 
virtue  to  the  world,  and  yet,  by  the  skillful, 
crooked  tricks  of  your  vicious  trade,  you 
have  filched  from  it  ease,  emolument,  respect, 
luxury  and  power ;  and  you  sit  above  the  rest 
of  us,  drawing  away  in  your  hideous  pride, 
that  you  may  not  be  contaminated  by  our 
touch.  Social  position!  To  whom  does  so 
ciety  owe  position?  To  me,  who  give  it  edu 
cation  and  recreation  and  thought  and  hap 
piness;  or  to  you,  who  take  from  it  every- 

339 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

thing  you  can  swindle  it  out  of,  and  return 
to  it  sneers,  corruption,  evil  example,  de 
praved  tastes  and  debased  amusement?  In 
the  eye  of  Truth,  your  social  position  is  in 
comparably  lower  than  mine.  Yet,  fool  that 
I  was,  I  stooped  to  you  because  I  loved  you. 
But  now,  at  last,  I  know  you — the  inside  of 
you,  you  the  man,"  her  scorn  became  im 
measurable,  "for  what  you  are.  This  is  the 
end." 

She  rang  the  bell.  "Give  Mr.  Potter  his 
hat  and  show  him  out,"  she  ordered. 

"But  Sylvia,"  he  made  one  last  effort,  "if 
you  icant,  I  will  marry  you— 

She  stretched  her  rigid  arm  toward  the 
door.  "Oh,  you  BEAST!"  her  voice  rolled 
out,  "GO!" 

When  the  door  closed  behind  him,  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  arms. 

"Life  means  so  little  now.  It  is  such  an 
unhappy  thing,"  she  sobbed. 

When  Paul  came  into  the  street,  he  turned 
and  looked  for  a  long  time  to  the  light  high 
above  him  which  shone  from  Sylvia's  win 
dows.  "Diamonds  and  pearls,  diamonds  and 
pearls  have  I  thrown  away  with  both  my 


340 


"Diamonds  and   Pearls" 

bands!"  he  wailed,  with  the  wail  of  Love  o* 
Women.  "And  what  have  I  to  show  for  it? 
Oh,  what  have  I  to  show  for  it  ? " 

The  dark  side  street  was  empty,  save  for 
him.  "I  was  a  little  premature  in  sending 
Duroc  home,"  he  smiled,  bitterly. 

'  *  I  need  whiskey, ' '  said  he, ' '  lots  of  it — and 
I  am  going  to  get  it. ' ' 


341 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV 


WHITE  NIGHT 

On  a  hot  August  afternoon,  a  fortnight 
before  their  opening  at  Frawly's,  Sylvia  and 
Leamington  walked  wearily  from  rehearsal 
to  a  little  restaurant  on  Sixth  avenue. 

They  ordered  iced  tea,  made  very  strong. 
"I  am  so  tired,  so  fearfully  tired,"  she  said; 
"I  feel  as  if  it  were  the  end  of  the  season 
instead  of  the  beginning." 

* '  I  have  known  there  was  something  wrong, 
but  I  didn't  ask  you,  because  you  didn't  tell 
me.  You  haven't  your  old  time  ginger,  girlie. 
And  you'll  kill  the  play  unless  you  get  it 
back,  for  Suzanne  is  vibrant  with  strong, 
passionate  life.  It's  becoming  serious,  Syl 
via.  The  rest  of  the  company  is  getting 
lackadaisical  and  Frawly  is  worried  to  death. 
He  had  a  long  talk  with  me  this  morning, 
and  is  thinking  of  trying  out  Mrs.  Harrison. 
He  says  you've  evidently  lost  interest." 

342 


White  Night 

Sylvia's  eyes  flashed  contemptuously.  "He 
is  thinking  of  trying  Mrs.  Harrison,  is  he? 
What  about  my  contract?" 

"Your  contract  is  for  the  salary,  not  for 
the  part." 

"And  so  he  thinks  of  trying  her — her?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  he  won't,  all  the  same,"  she  laughed 
savagely. 

"There,"  exclaimed  Leamington;  "that's 
the  way — that's  it;  only  light  that  fire  in 
your  eyes  at  rehearsal  for  Frawly  to  see. 
Don't  wait  until  afterwards  to  waste  it  on 
poor  old  broken-down  Leamington.  What's 
been  wrong,  anyway?  Tell  us." 

"Oh,  nothing  about  the  theater.  Some 
thing's  disappointed  me,  and  I  haven't  been 
able  to  get  over  it  all  at  once." 

"Sylvia,  then  I  am  disappointed,  too — in 
you.  To  think  of  your  risking  the  oppor 
tunity  of  your  lifetime  because  of  some  petty 
private  trouble.  You  know  that  sort  of  thing 
is  not  done  by  real  people.  It's  simply  not 
done.  The  theater  comes  first  always,  or 
else  you're  no  artist." 

"You're  right,  of  course,"  she  answered, 
contritely.  "I'll  try  to  buck  up  after  this 

343 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

• — and  I  will.  No  understudy  for  mine.  But 
you  look  pretty  well  played  out  yourself,  old 
man." 

He  took  a  sip  of  his  iced  tea.  "This  seems 
poor  stuff  to  me,"  he  said,  slowly  twisting 
his  glass  around  in  his  fingers.  "I  don't 
know  how  much  longer  I  can  stand  it.  That's 
the  trouble  with  me." 

"Oh,  no;  not  that;  not  now.  Please  think, 
dear,  what  it  means  now,  just  at  this  mo 
ment."  Frightened,  she  laid  her  hand  over 
his.  "Is  this  horrible  thing  never  to  leave 
you  alone?  Must  it  always  pursue  you!" 

The  grey  of  his  hair  was  hardly  greyer 
than  the  grey  of  his  thin  cheeks.  "We've 
come  pretty  near  to  the  end  of  Leamington," 
he  said,  trying  to  smile.  "Every  night 
twenty  beautiful  little  devils  dance  on  the 
footboard  of  my  bed,  each  holding  aloft  a 
glass  of  sweet  fire,  and  imploring,  'Come 
with  us,  pour  this  elixir  into  your  old,  flaccid 
veins  and  be  tonight  again  a  king  and  a 
youth.'  I  can  hold  on,  though,  until  the  first 
week  is  over,  and  you  are  safe.  After 

that "he  threw  his  open  hands  up  witli 

a  gesture  of  despair.  "The  last  five  years 


3-14 


White   Night 

of  my  life  have  been  merely  a  reprieve,  which 
Fate  has  granted  to  your  constant  interced 
ing.  In  return,  I  have  made  you  the  greatest 
actor  in  America — for  that  is  what  you  are. 
I  may  be  the  only  one  who  says  it  today,  but 
plenty  of  others  will  be  saying  it  soon.  Our 
accounts  are  squared.  I  have  nothing  more 
to  give  you;  and  you  have  nothing  that  you 
can  honestly  give  me.  I  am  but  the  breakup 
of  a  man — but  I'll  last  through  the  opening 
week  for  your  sake.  Come,  let 's  walk  along. ' ' 


The  great  Filon  came  from  Paris  to  wit 
ness  the  first  presentation  in  English  of  his 
mighty  drama — L'Ouvriere.  From  scene  to 
scene  the  applause  grew  until  it  became  wild- 
ness.  Filon,  with  tears  streaming  down  his 
cheeks,  left  his  box  and  sought  Sylvia  in  the 
wings.  "Ah,  que  tu  es  magnifique,  superbe, 
ah,  que  tu  es  artiste,"  he  sobbed,  kissing  her 
on  the  cheek. 

Her  cue  was  given.  Smiling  forgiveness, 
she  crossed  the  stage  to  where  Leamington, 
as  Frederic,  sat  huddled,  and  touched  his 
shoulder.  He  turned,  started  back  afraid; 
then  when  he  saw  her  smile,  slowly  hope  was 

345 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

born  into  his  eyes.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
from  one  to  the  other.  Silent  with  anxiety, 
the  audience  of  blase  men  and  women  bent 
forward.  Frederic  arose.  "My  wife,"  he 
moaned,  placing  his  arms  about  her  neck. 
The  curtain  dropped. 

Through  the  heavy  cloth  the  people  on  the 
stage  heard  the  heavy,  swelling  roar — hand- 
clappings,  foot-stampings,  shouts  of  "Brava, 
Castleman,  bravissima,"  "Bravo,  Leaming 
ton,"  shrill  whistlings  from  the  gallery,  grew 
into  such  a  mighty  din  as  never  before  was 
heard  in  that  auditorium. 

But  Sylvia,  heedless  of  it  all,  as  soon  as 
the  curtain  shut  off  the  audience,  jumped 
back  from  Leamington's  arms  and  struck 
him  with  all  her  strength  full  across  the 
mouth.  "Drunkard!"  she  hissed.  "Sot!" 
He  sprawled  under  the  blow. 

She  turned  to  Frawly.  "Go  out  and  tell 
the  house  I  can't  take  this  call.  But  I'll  be 
on  for  the  next  act.  Give  'em  any  lie  you 
want.  Leamington's  half  drunk,  and  I've 
got  to  take  care  of  him  and  nurse  him 
through,  somehow." 

She  turned  again,  fiercely,  to  Leamington. 
"You'll  do  the  rest  of  your  dressing  for  to- 
346 


White   Night 

night  with  me,  in  my  dressing  room.  You 
won't  get  ten  feet  out  of  my  sight  until  the 
show's  over.  Mr.  Jessup,"  she  addressed 
the  stage  manager,  "have  Mr.  Leamington's 
things  taken  to  my  dressing  room  at  once; 
he's  started  drinking  again — tonight  of  all 
nights — and  it'll  take  wild  horses  to  stop  him 
now."  She  drew  her  dark  brows  together 
in  a  straight,  cruel  line.  "And  I  am  going 
to  be  the  wild  horses,"  she  muttered. 

Leamington  collapsed  when  the  strain  of 
the  first  act  was  over.  For  alcohol  was  com 
ing  into  its  own  again,  after  long  exile.  A 
doctor  was  summoned  to  Sylvia's  dressing 
room,  where  the  actor  lay  on  a  couch,  his 
eyes  bloodshot,  his  breath  half  cut  off.  Stom 
ach  medicines,  spirits  of  ammonia  and  strych 
nine  were  applied. 

The  next  curtain  was  ten  minutes  late. 
Leamington  barely  got  through  without  stum 
bling.  But  Mrs.  Harrison  as  Clotilde  out 
played  herself,  and  Sylvia,  as  Suzanne,  was 
so  masterfully  sure  that  the  act  was  saved. 

"I  am  going  to  marry  you  tonight,"  said 
Sylvia,  calmly,  as  they  sat  changing  for  the 
third. 

"Wh-what!"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh,  no,  it's 
347 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

too  late  now.  It's  hopeless.  You  must  leave 
me  here  to  rot  in  my  mire." 

"I  am  going  to  marry  you  tonight,"  she 
reiterated,  in  monotone.  "Whatever  you 
may  happen  to  think  about  it,  Mr.  Henry 
Leamington. ' ' 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  actress 
slipped  on  a  dressing  sack  and  said,  "Come 
in."  The  doctor  entered,  a  small  black 
leather  case  in  his  hand.  He  took  out  a  hypo 
dermic  needle.  "I  think,"  said  he,  "that  in 
view  of  the  state  of  Mr.  Leamington's  nerves, 
it  will  be  advisable  to  administer  a  little 
stimulant." 

"Stimulant!"  shouted  the  actor,  new 
strength  in  his  voice.  "No,  I  don't  need  any 
that  you  have  to  offer.  I  have  just  received 
the  most  wonderful  stimulant  in  the  world." 

When  the  performance  was  ended  and  the 
final  curtain  dropped  before  the  mimic  sor 
row,  the  audience  sat  in  silence  for  a  little 
while  before  beginning  their  demonstration. 

Then  finally,  when  their  applause  was  fin 
ished,  they  filed  out  slowly,  nodding  their 
heads  together,  and  talking  in  low  earnest 
tones  of  the  great  play,  and  of  Castleman  and 
Leamington,  who  had  deepened  and  broad- 
348 


White   Night 


ened  and  intensified  the  two  most  splendid 
parts  which  Filon  ever  had  conceived. 

"Come,  dear,"  said  Sylvia,  when  she  had 
finished  her  dressing  for  the  street.  "Let 
us  hurry  home — I  am  so  tired.  We  simply 
can't  take  supper  with  these  people  who  are 
waiting  for  us." 

They  made  their  way  through  the  crowd 
of  privileged  first  nighters,  critics,  actors, 
managers,  singers  and  writers,  who  had  gath 
ered  behind  the  scenes  and  half  blocked  the 
narrow  passage  way  from  the  stage  to  the 
star's  dressing  room. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Leamington,  "Miss 
Castleman  is  not  well  and  I  am  taking 
her  home.  You  will  excuse  her,  I  beg,  from 
supper,  for  she  is  near  collapse." 

There  was  quick  and  kindly  sympathy  for 
her.  "Oh,  too  bad,  too  bad;  on  tonight  of 
all  nights."  "This  is  her  white  night,  any 
way,  headache  or  no  headache,"  they  said. 
Those  who  were  near  pressed  her  hand  as, 
leaning  on  Leamington's  arm,  she  made  her 
way  to  'the  door. 

"The  splendid  rendering  of  a  nobly  drawn 
character  by  a  true  artist,"  said  the  famous 


349 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

impresario.  For  him  she  stopped  a  moment, 
and  held  out  her  hand. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you  so  much,"  she 
smiled. 

Then  the  door  slammed  behind  her,  and 
she  walked  hurriedly  up  the  alley  to  the 
street,  through  the  crowd  which  was  collected 
outside.  Some  of  them  cheered  and  some 
raised  their  hats.  She  kissed  her  fingers  to 
them,  saying,  "Thank  you,  oh,  thank  you." 
Leamington  bowed  to  them,  happy  in  her 
triumph,  and  happy  in  his  own  double  tri 
umph. 

They  entered  a  carriage  and,  as  it  rolled 
away,  she  leaned  out  and  threw  back  a  last 
kiss  to  the  crowd  which  was  still  black  on 
the  sidewalk  before  the  theater.  "Good 
night,  my  people — my  dear  people,"  she 
whispered.  She  put  her  hands  in  Leaming 
ton's. 

"Oh,  I  am  happy,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "nights  like  these  make  it 
all  seem  worth  while." 

They  dismissed  their  carriage  before  reach 
ing  the  Little-Church-around-the-Corner ;  and 
after  the  ceremony  walked  up  Madison  ave 
nue  in  the  soft  warm  September  night,  to 
350 


White   Night 

her  apartment.  He  swung  his  straw  hat  in 
his  hand,  whistling  like  a  boy,  as  he  walked. 

She  was  the  first  to  awake  the  next  morn 
ing.  Sadly  she  looked  at  the  seamed,  lined 
face  and  the  scant  grey  hair  of  her  husband 
as  he  lay  beside  her,  asleep.  "Yes,"  she 
sighed;  "it  was  the  right  thing.  I  can  keep 
him  decent  a  little  longer  by  this — and  I  owe 
him  that  much." 

She  smiled  and  gently  touched  his  hand. 
"And  how  he  did  act  after  I  told  him  I'd 
marry  him.  There  never  was  such  acting  in 
America.  I  can  never  reach  that  height,  and 
he  never  can  reach  it  again — not  even  to 
night,"  she  said,  wistfully;  "no,  not  even 
tonight. ' ' 

But  as  they  sat  together  at  breakfast,  read 
ing  the  reviews  of  their  debut,  she  found  con 
tentment,  for  every  judgment  was  friendly, 
from  that  of  the  dean  of  the  critical  corps, 
who  began :  ' '  Not  since  the  days  of  Adelaide 
Neilson  has  there  been  presented  on  the 
American  stage  such  an  all-charitable,  all- 
comprehending  interpretation  of  a  sad 
woman's  heart  as  was  shown  last  night  by 
Miss  Castleman,"  to  the  unrestrained  eulogy 
of  the  slangy  youngest  critic,  who  concluded : 

351 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"We  lucky  ones  who  were  at  Frawly's  last 
night  will  be  telling  our  grandchildren  all 
about  it  some  day." 

Leamington  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips. 
'  '  You  have  gone  big, ' '  said  he.  ' 1 1  knew  you 
would." 


352 


CHAPTER  XXXV 


MISS  FUNCKE  OF  ST.  LOUIS 

It  was  two  years  later,  and  the  women  of 
the  idle  rich  were  driving,  almost  for  the 
last  time  that  season,  down  Fifth  avenue  and 
up  again,  into  the  Park  and  out  of  it.  Be 
fore  another  week  of  May's  brightness  should 
have  passed,  they  would  be  scattered  from 
the  city  to  the  mountains,  to  the  sea,  to  the 
old  world,  in  ever  sought  and  ever  vain  en 
deavor  to  escape  satiety,  while  yet  remaining 
functionless. 

Paul  Potter  walked  correctly  up  the  ave 
nue.  Tailor,  bootmaker,  haberdasher,  valet, 
florist,  barber,  manicure  and  masseur  had 
united  to  turn  him  out,  and  he  felt  that  their 
efforts  had  not  been  vain. 

The  sunshine  was  in  his  blood.  He  held 
himself  very  erect  and  soldierly,  as  he 
glanced  at  his  own  tall  image  in  the  polished 

353 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

plate  glass  windows  of  the  ground-floor  jewel 
shops.  Sometimes  he  wondered  whether  his 
reflection  was  not  beginning  to  show  a  shade 
more  of  portliness  than  dignity  required,  or 
at  least  condoned,  in  a  man  of  his  age.  But 
the  sun  and  the  spring  made  for  optimism, 
so  that  three  windows  out  of  four  threw  back 
to  him  a  vision  with  which  he  was  completely 
pleased  and  satisfied. 

Sometimes  he  touched  his  glossy  hat  to  the 
bored,  silent  women  who,  half  reclining  in 
victorias  and  motor  cars,  swept  by  him; 
sometimes,  with  fresher  interest,  he  smiled, 
but  did  not  bow,  to  one  of  the  pretty  mani 
cure  girls,  just  released  by  the  stroke  of 
half  past  five  from  behind  her  screen  in  the 
barber  shop  of  some  gorgeous  caravanserai, 
where  she  cleaned  and  polished  the  finger 
nails  of  him  and  his  kind. 

The  figure  of  a  woman  dressed  in  grey, 
walking  ahead  of  him  focussed  his  interest. 
Her  harmony  of  outline,  the  sure  grace  of 
her  movement,  made  him  quicken  his  steps 
in  curiosity  to  see  her  face.  Passing,  he 
threw  a  bold  sidelong  glance  at  her. 

Mechanically  his  hand  started  for  the  brim 
of  his  hat,  then  paused  uncertain  in  the  air, 
354 


Miss   Funcke  of  St.   Louis 

in  fear  that  his  bow  should  not  be  welcome. 
"Sylv — Mrs.  Leamington,  I  did  not  suppose 
it  was  you." 

"How  do  you  do,  Paul?"  she  smiled,  in 
perfect  kindliness ;  * '  are  you  going  my  way  ? ' ' 

"How  everybody  stares  at  yfou,"  was  all, 
after  a  long  pause,  that  he  could  find  to  say. 
"Such  is  the  penalty  of  fame." 

"No  penalty,"  she  answered.  "I  don't 
mind,  if  they  don't  mean  rudeness;  and  most 
of  them  don't.  Only  a  few  men  are  rude, 
and  that  is  usually  here  in  New  York." 

They  entered  the  park  and  took  seats  on  a 
bench,  facing  one  of  the  winding  pleasure 
roads. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Paul,"  she  began, 
quite  suddenly.  "I  am  interested.  Tell  me 
about  yourself." 

* '  Nothing  is  much  changed.  I  'm  better  off 
since  Muriel  died,  making  more  and  spend 
ing  less.  Our  firm's  one  of  the  recognized, 
solid  houses  now,  and  we're  growing.  Oh, 
I'm  on  Easy  Street,  at  last." 

She  leaned  forward,  tracing  with  the  tip 
of  her  parasol  in  the  gravel  walk.  "That 
was  always  what  you  wanted  most  in  the 
world,  wasn't  it?  I  am  glad  you  have  had 

355 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

your  wish.  And  what  else  about  you?  How 
do  you  amuse  yourself!" 

Paul  drew  out  his  cigarette  case,  and 
looked  to  her  interrogatively.  "Certainly," 
she  said.  He  lit  a  cigarette.  "Oh,  well,  last 
winter  I  had  some  motor-boating  at  Palm 
Beach  that  was  rather  amusing.  Then  there's 
polo  and  hunting  and  motoring.  I'm  fond 
of  sport,  you  know.  This  winter  I  am  going 
to  try  my  new  car  in  the  races  on  Ormond 
Beach.  Probably  in  February  I  shall  have 
a  fortnight  with  Carl  on  the  Capuan,  in  the 
West  Indies." 

"You  go  out  a  great  deal,  I  suppose — to 
fashionable  dinners  and  dances  and  week 
ends  in  the  country?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  he,  surprised;  "I  go 
with  the  very  best  people  in  New  York.  I 
thought  you  knew  that." 

"What  a  broad  accent  you  have  now, 
Paul,"  she  smiled,  but  not  unkindly.  "It 
would  sound  very  strangely  in  Darbeyville, 
wouldn't  it?  But  tell  me  more.  What  do 
you  read?" 

He  reflected.  "Well,"  he  explained,  "the 
fact  is  I  have  been  too  busy  lately  to  do  much 
reading,  except  the  newspapers  and  maga- 
356 


Miss   Funcke   of  St.   Louis 

zines.  However,  I  expect  to  get  around  to 
it  soon  and  take  up  something  serious.  I 
believe  it's  improving.  Now,  tell  me  about 
yourself — and  your  husband.  How  is  he?'* 

"He  is  a  good  man,"  she  said.  "He  has 
fought  with  beasts  at  Ephesus  and  conquered 
them — for  me.  He  is  very  dear  to  me. ' '  She 
spoke  in  a  low  voice.  "And  I  love  him — not 
with  the  love  of  youth,  perhaps;  for  that 
comes  but  once;  but  with  the  love  of  wis 
dom." 

After  a  pause,  while  the  memories  raced 
through  him,  the  man  asked:  "How  is  busi 
ness  with  you?" 

"Splendid.  We  take  the  company  to  Lon 
don  this  fall  for  a  year." 

"Making  much  money?" 

"Oh,  yes;  a  great  deal.  And  I  am  glad, 
for  soon  I  shall  have  paid  off  the  last  of 
father's  debts.  Now,  I  want  to  know  some 
thing  about  your  plans." 

His  throat  seemed  to  go  a  little  dry.  He 
passed  his  handkerchief  over  his  forehead 
and  carefully  threw  away  his  cigarette  be 
fore  answering.  "Well,  I  am  going  to  be 
married." 

"Oh,  and  to  whom?" 
357 


A   Little   Brother  of  the   Rich 

"It's  not  announced  yet,  so  you  mustn't 
tell.  Her  name  is  Clara  Funcke.  She  is  the 
only  child  of  August  Funcke,  the  St.  Louis 
brewer. ' ' 

Sylvia  looked  straight  at  him.  "Tell  me 
the  truth,"  said  she;  "are  you  in  love  with 
her?" 

He  slowly  answered,  "No;  but  then,  she 
understands  that.  I  make  love  to  her  only 
in  the  most  conventional  way.  I  will  give 
her  what  she  wants — a  New  York  position; 
and  she  will  give  me  what  I  want — more 
money.  You  can't  ever  have  too  much  of 
that,  you  know."  He  laughed  in  his  em 
barrassment. 

"I  am  not  too  sure  of  that,  Paul.  But 
don't  you  see — don't  you  know,"  she  ex 
claimed,  "that  you  can  never  be  happy  in 
that  way?" 

"Happiness,  happiness,  what  is  it?  Who 
has  it?  All  we  know  is  that  money  can  get 
almost  everything  for  you." 

He  broke  off,  then  resumed  heatedly,  as  if 
in  dispute.  "Happiness  lasts  only  a  little 
while,  I  tell  you.  Believe  it  or  not,  as  you 
like,  but  you  were  the  only  woman  in  my 
life  that  ever  really  counted.  And  I've 
358 


Miss   Funcke  of  St.   Louis 

known  a  lot  of  them.  Yet,  even  if  we  had 
been  married,  our  happiness  would  only  have 
been  for  a  time.  Love  doesn't  last." 

"Not  your  kind,  Paul,"  she  said,  gently. 
"But  I  am  glad,  too,  that  it  happened  as  it 
did.  My  life  has  meant  more  in  the  theater 
than  it  could  have  meant  in  the  kitchen,  the 
nursery  and  the  parlor  of  any  man  on  earth." 

He  was  disappointed.  "Why,  Sylvia," 
said  he,  "I  always  thought  you  were  natur 
ally  a  womanly  woman,  who  adopted  the 
stage  because  you  were — er— 

"Driven  to  it?"  She  smiled,  with  a  tinge 
of  malice.  "Broken  heart,  broken  fortune, 
compelled  to  act  to  live,  but  always  deep 
down  in  my  soul  mourned  over  what  I  had 
lost — meaning  your  noble  self  I  Is  that  what 
you  thought?" 

"Oh,  no;  not  exactly  that,"  he  floundered. 
"So  you  really  believe  in  art  for  art's  sake?" 

"Kather  I  should  say  that  my  art  is  for 
people's  sakes,  to  bring  them  a  little  more 
understanding,  a  little  more  wisdom  and  hope 
and  courage.  But  I  know  so  little  yet;  and 
I  must  know  more. 

"You  must  know  more  about  what?" 

She  smiled.  "I  don't  think  you  would 
359 


A   Little   Brother   of  the   Rich 

understand,"  she  said.  "But  Paul,  look  at 
me  and  tell  me,  now  that  you  have  achieved 
your  heart's  desire,  if  it  has  been  worth 
while?" 

For  a  long  while  he  hesitated.  "No,  Syl 
via,"  he  answered,  slowly  and  with  reluc 
tance.  "It  has  not  been  worth  while.  My 
whole  life  is  a  horrible  lie,  a  poisonous  blun 
der,  a  soul  destroyer.  Sometimes  I  catch  a 
vision  of  the  truth,  but  always  I  turn  away 
from  it  quickly,  or  I  couldn't  keep  on." 

"Why  must  you  keep  on?"  she  cried. 
"Why  don't  you  turn  to  the  truth,  even  if 
you  see  it  only  some  times!  You  will  see 
if  oftener  as  you  move  toward  it."  For  the 
last  time  in  her  life  she  besought  him,  with 
her  lips  and  with  her  great  dark  eyes. 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  can't.  I  know  it's 
all  rotten  and  false,  but  it's  too  late  to 
change.  I  am  nearly  forty  years  old.  My 
life  is  settled;  my  ways  are  fixed.  It  is  too 
late." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "I  am 
afraid  you  are  a  quitter,  Paul,"  said  she. 
"Good-bye." 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid  I  am.    Good-bye.    You 


3C>o 


Miss   Funcke   of  St.   Louis 

were  the  only  one.  There  can  never  be  an 
other.  Good-bye. ' ' 

He  took  her  hand,  pressed  it  to  his  lips, 
then  stood  up  and  walked  away  from  her  to 
the  place  where  his  motor  waited.  He  was 
driven  rapidly  down  the  broad,  smooth 
asphalt  pavement  to  his  club. 

When  he  was  gone  from  her  sight,  she 
arose  from  the  bench  where  they  had  been 
sitting  and  slowly  walked  on  up  the  slope, 
under  the  green  trees  of  the  park. 

THE  END. 


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